


The Primarch's Order

by Some_Writer



Series: Turian Machinations of Spectres and Primarchs [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Bittersweet Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Destroy Ending, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Palaven, Post-Mass Effect 3, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Turians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-24 03:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 131,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8355244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Writer/pseuds/Some_Writer
Summary: Adrien Victus saw his people through the war, but with the fall of the Reapers brings new challenges. He's a man mourning all that he's lost, as well as wanting to help his young friend cope with the loss of Commander Shepard. He's a General that wants to restore his people to what they were. Now, he's also a Primarch, expected to participate in the lucrative dance that is politics. This is a story of his struggle to discover who he is at the end of the day and what he'll become after all is said and done.Excerpt: "Victus returned to his seat, but his gaze remained on the proverbial battlefield. His opponents now sat divided in the shattered remains of their imaginative ramparts. Their alliance broken. Now that he had put into motion the tactical risk of turning the decision over to the Hackett, all that was left to do was sit and watch the outcome as the Admiral got to his feet."   Now with beautiful cover art. :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
> I thought Adrien Victus was an interesting character, wished the game did more with him, and wish there were more fics about him. Rather than keep wishing, I decided to do it. This story is told entirely through his POV. This is the first fic I've written in years, but I want to improve as a writer so criticism is welcome and encouraged. I have a thick skin. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned the amazing art you see below from the extremely talented, [Mad Bee.](https://twitter.com/angryspacebee) =D

The blistering flames licked at his hide as Adrien Victus barreled through the familiar door frame of his home on Palaven, now set ablaze. His amber eyes squinted through the smoke, trying in a vain hope to pick out the forms of either his bondmate or his infant son.  
  
“MAGS!” He shouted, his subharmonics carried the vibrations of her name even farther so that, if she couldn't hear, she could feel her name called.  
  
He picked his way through fallen debris, now hot and blackened by the fire to get to the living room. He found nothing there but burning memories of happier times.  
  
“MAGRIM!” He tried again. “Answer me! Where are you?!”

As he quickly made his way to the corridor that led to his shared room with his bondmate, across from the room where his son slept, he froze at the opening. The sensitive membrane of his cowl amplified the vibrations of his son's subharmonics in his ears. Tarquin was peeping from somewhere down the hallway. The roar of the fire around him drowned the sound, but he could feel the vibrations as sharp as a knife.  
  
“TARQUIN!” He both shouted and thrummed with both sets of vocal cords. Tarquin was only an infant, but it was Adrien's hope that the fledgling would respond loudly to hearing his father's voice. He did. The peeping was coming from his and Mags' bedroom. He ran down the corridor and, not bothering with the hot doorknob, threw his weight into the door, knocking it clear off its hinges.  
  
The fire in the room behaved oddly, sticking only to the perimeter and leaving the space within untouched. That wasn't what held Adrien's attention though. His eyes focused on the middle of the room where, standing as still and as calmly as a turian could in a burning house, was his beautiful and beloved Magrim Victus. Their son lay cradled and safe against her throat, nestled in the sweeping curve of her cowl. She regarded him calmly with the same sharp, green eyes that she had passed on to their son.  
  
“Hey, Private.” As always, even after he'd been promoted multiple times, she used the military rank they both were when they met ten years ago. It was her nickname for him.

Adrien ignored the greeting and hurried to her.  
  
“Have you lost your mind, Mags?” He demanded when he reached her. He immediately took note that she appeared unharmed and -absurdly- unafraid of the ring of fire surrounding the three of them. His eyes fell on Tarquin, covered in the soft, white down of all newborn turians during their first year. Tarquin, who was no longer peeping, peered alertly up at him and then started reaching with his three tiny, talon-tipped fingers for his father's cowl.  
  
"Come on!" He reached for her hand and turned to pull her with him, but she balked, refusing to take a single step towards their only exit. “Not this time, Private,” she said. “I can't go with you on this one.”  
  
Adrien stared incredulously at his bondmate. She was always stubborn, but never stupid. She, however, was staring down at her feet so he followed her gaze to the floor. He had to suppress the urge to be sick as he took in the sight. Her legs appeared normal all the way down to her raised heel, but lower than that, where the balls of her digitigrade feet and talons should have met the hardwood, looked melted with the surface of the floor.  
  
The ring of fire around them started to close in slowly.  
  
“What?” He breathed, unable to look at the sight any longer so he snapped his eyes back up to her face where her green eyes were now staring at him.  
  
“I can't go,” she whispered and made a helpless gesture with her hands. Tarquin still reached for him. “Take Tarquin and get out of here.”  
  
Despite the intense heat of the closing fire, her words sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Leave her here?

Like this?

To burn alive?

Tarquin peeped once, causing Adrian's eyes to dart back down to him. He was still reaching, now more earnestly, for the comfort of his father's cowl. Adrien's hands seemed to move of their own accord and he reached for Tarquin. His long fingers securely cradled the tiny fledgling and moved him to the security of his own cowl. Once he was nestled, Tarquin's soft body vibrated as he purred contently, his eyes closing.  
  
Adrien's heart felt like a heavy stone in his chest as he stared into the face of the turian woman he's loved for a decade. He trapped her face in his hands and pressed his browplate against hers. His subharmonics emitted a desperate keen that he wouldn't even try to suppress. He then turned toward the exit with the intent to leave before he could change his mind, but stopped short when he saw his exit was gone. If he hadn't just entered through that way, he would have sworn that it never existed in the first place.  
  
He turned back to face Magrim, but she was focused on Tarquin. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, her face taking on the look it did when she was studying a particularly stubborn piece of machinery. Then her eyes snapped up to meet his and he saw resoluteness there.  
  
“It's Tarquin,” she explained, her subharmonics dripped with sorrow. “I don't think you can escape with him. Here, give him back to me.” Her hands rose to take the snoozing fledgling.  
  
Adrien caught her hands in his own, stopping them. “No,” he said, his voice shaking. “No. Don't ask me to do-”  
  
“Adrien-”  
  
“I can't-”  
  
“Adrien, pleas-”  
  
“NO!” He shouted and felt Tarquin stir at the disturbance. “If my only option is to leave you both here then it's no option.” He grabbed her face again and pressed his brow hard to hers, breathing in the air she exhaled. She shook her head slightly, rubbing their brows together as she did so.  
  
“You're being stupid, Private. You know that. You shouldn't have to die too,” she whispered.  
  
“I can't... I can't live in a universe without you two.” He felt Tarquin snuggle closer to his throat, a natural reaction for a newborn fledgling to better feel the comforting vibrations of their parent's voice. Like Mags, Adrien's feet fused to the floor and the ring of fire swept in on them in a rush.

 Adrien Victus suddenly jerked awake. His hand snapped up of its own accord to feel the inside of his cowl. He then had to bite back the bitter feeling of disappointment when he didn't make contact with a soft bundle of fluff. The chilly, damp air of London quickly chased away the sweltering memory of fire as he woke to a cold world without them both.

 

* * *

 

Four months. It had been four months since Commander Shepard gave her life to bring an end to the galaxy's struggle against the Reapers. Or, at least, everyone assumed she did. Any remains of her have yet to be found by any of the search parties on the Citadel.

Four months since he and the entire turian fleet, as well as every other fleet belonging to the other species that also showed up in the final battle against the Reapers, were left stranded on Earth.

Four months since the red blast from the Crucible knocked out all forms of communication with other solar systems as well as the mass relays, leaving him completely in the dark of Palaven's post-Reaper state.  
  
Adrien shifted in the very human designed seat that he occupied and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nasal plating in annoyance. It _felt_ like four months since the human in front of him began his drawn out speech. In a way, he supposed, it had. After all, Victus has been attending these diplomatic meetings throughout the span of the past four months. He still hated diplomats.  
  
The human currently speaking was referred to as “The Prime Minister,” by the other humans. How humans managed to get anything done with their planet so divided up in different nations, he had no idea. As usual The Prime Minister was directing most of his dialogue to the man sitting to Victus' left: Admiral Hackett.  
  
“Understood, Prime Minister. I'm overseeing the reconstruction of the Alliance stations myself,” he heard the old admiral reply. Now the Prime Minister turned his eyes onto Victus.  
  
“Primarch, I trust that your people are being treated well during your stay?” He asked. The Prime Minister was always tense when addressing the other species; a fact that did not escape Victus' notice. He supposed it had everything to do with the fact that the man had only stepped into the position as Prime Minister very recently. His predecessor, like most leaders during the war, had been targeted and taken out almost immediately upon the Reapers' arrival. Time spent among other species must have been limited for this man, until now. Victus was careful to keep his sharp teeth hidden and his talons under gloves so as not to intimidate the man too much. After all, he could sympathize with waking up one morning and suddenly being forced in a position you were not aware you had to prepare for.  
  
“Yes, Prime Minister,” he answered, following Hackett's example to properly address the human. “Multiple shelters have been raised by volunteers among your people in order to shelter mine. I understand that some have even opened their homes to my turian brothers and sisters. I speak for them when I thank you for the hospitality.”  
  
“It's the least we can do for coming to our aide,” he said. Victus heard Wrex, sitting to his right, grumble something about turians not being the only ones who helped. He ignored Wrex.  
  
The meeting went on like that for another hour as they always do. They took place at this same shiny, hardwood table shaped in the form of a large ring, not too unlike the table aboard the _Normandy,_ located in the conference room. Sitting around the table was not only himself, Wrex, Hackett, and the Prime Minister, but also ambassadors from other races that had shown up to fight for Earth.

Irissa Asteria is an ambitious asari matron that spent a century or two as an elite commando and the last fifty or so years rumored to be Counselor Tevos' favorite Spectre. And, assuming his intel was accurate, which he was confident that it was, she would have been the likely replacement for Tevos in the event of her death. The intel could not have been too exclusive because no one seemed surprised when she had apparently appointed herself the acting Counselor for her race while on Earth. The salarian dalatrass, Linron, was also present, (much to Victus' silent dismay) as well as all the surviving admirals from the quarian fleet.  
  
“Can you provide us with any updates on the Sol relay?” Hackett asked, directing his question at the quarian admirals. The quarians and what remained of the geth (most, but not all, were deactivated along with the Reapers,) had begun work to repair the relay almost immediately following the fall of the Reapers. They, of course, had the assistance of the best engineers that all the races had at their disposal as well. Only logical, since it was in everyone's interest to get them working again or be forever stuck on Earth. The other races could survive that for a time, but Earth is not a planet with an abundance of dextro supplies. The mug of simple hot water cooling in front of him was a constant reminder of that fact. His men had exhausted the supplies of kava and dextro teas weeks ago in their ongoing effort to ward off the chill that was brought on during the London nights.

“Reconstruction on the Sol relay is going slowly, but well,” said Admiral Shala'Raan. “The geth have been an immense boon to the repairs. As odd as it is to say, having been once linked with the Reapers is working to our advantage. They have some understanding on how the relays were built in the first place.”

“Good to hear,” Hackett nodded his agreement. “At least the structure of the relay remained largely intact. We activated it once before and that was without the combined help of other species. I see no reason why we can't do it again. Hopefully, the other relays are in similar shape.”  
  
Admiral Koris nodded his agreement before adding. “While we're on the subject of the geth, we have encountered a problem. Simply put, we don't have enough of them. The red blast shutdown almost all of them except for a few hundred. Interestingly enough, the ones that were not shut down were ones originally built by our ancestors. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that they were made by organics-”  
  
“That's very fascinating, Admiral,” Irissa drawled, not sounding fascinated at all, “but can you please get to the point?”  
  
The lines in Admiral Koris' body made his irritation at the interruption clear even with his face hidden behind his opaque mask. “They have informed us that they _can_ rebuild and reactivate more units again, but it will take time away from rebuilding the relay if they do.”  
  
“Perhaps if we took the Rachni Queen up on her offe-” Admiral Shala'Raan started.  
  
“-Absolutely not!” Linron cut in sharply.

 _Ah. So this is when the 'negotiations' or 'the_ _release of pent up, bitter resentment into pointless and often loud quarrels,'_ _begins._ _Right on schedule_ , Victus mused.

Adrien Victus was never well versed in diplomatic games. He was groomed since birth for a military life, not a political one. However, it didn't take him long to figure out how to use his skills as an elite battle tactician to his advantage, this being a prime example. This is when he'd picture the table as a battlefield. Each person ( _army_ ) sitting around it had strengths, weaknesses, preferred tactics, allies and foes. The General in him had been sure to learn them all and to exploit them as needed.  
  
“While I understand your suspicion, Dalatrass,” the Primarch began. “I must contend. I'll admit I was wary of them too, but they offered to help my men repair any ships that needed it and they did a masterful job in a remarkably short time. They may not look it, but they _can_ build. With their help, we might be able to get the relay going much sooner and we can all go home.”

It wasn't entirely a lie, but he wasn't being entirely honest either. He could definitely understand the dalatrass' misgivings of the rachni. Until Commander Shepard, no one had heard from, let alone interacted with the rachni since the bloody wars the Reapers supposedly caused. They were almost entirely an unknown and, had circumstances been different, Victus could easily see himself arguing for the other side.

He'd also be lying if he said he was completely comfortable with the geth, but the situation remained the same. As it stood, he and his men were marooned on a planet with a rapidly dwindling amount of dextro supplies. Life on Earth could not support dextro-based vegetation and, by proxy, no dextro-based meat can be raised. Of course, before the Reapers hit, Earth started to procure dextro-based products for the odd turian that decided to retire to Earth's warm tropics or hot desert cities, but all those products were shipped to the planet from elsewhere in the galaxy.

No relays- no shipments. No shipments- starvation. Trusting the geth and the rachni was a tactical risk that he loathed to make, but a necessary one. It's that or condemn both his men and himself to starve. The choice was clear in his mind.  
  
“I agree with the dalatrass,” Irissa chimed.

 _'Well isn't that a fucking surprise?'_ Victus just managed to keep that thought to himself.

“We have no idea what their motives are!” She told them.  
  
“They communicate through dead bodies, for crying out loud!” Linron spat.  
  
“Or through _willing_ asari hosts,” Admiral Han'Gerrel added, his tone dripping with sarcasm. That didn't surprise Victus in the slightest. He and his colleagues could hardly agree on anything it seemed. He was just as adamant when the geth were brought up for the relays. While the quarians face the same risks that turians do in terms of running out of dextro supplies, their risks were considerably lower. Their diets were prominently vegan as opposed to turians being primarily carnivorous. Over the centuries, quarians had found ingenious ways to grow vegetation on their ships and had even offered to share with the turian military, but even _if_ a turian could survive on vegetation alone- ' _which we can't'_ \- the quarians could only supply so much and certainly not enough for an army plus themselves. Knowing that win or lose, the final onslaught against the Reapers would be fought in the Sol system, Victus had arrived with as much of the turian military at his back that their surviving ships would allow. Simply put, there were too many mouths to feed.

Victus had to call upon his military training of keeping an impassive face if he ever found himself in the unfortunate scenario of hostile interrogation or torture. He'd never think he'd have to use it in diplomatic meetings such as this. Well, up until a year ago he never thought he'd need to _take part_ in diplomatic meetings. He was thankful for it now because he needed it. He felt sure his face was calm, but inside he was raging. He wanted to throttle those who were so willing to fuck both him and his men over because _they_ were scared. Because _they_ had the luxury of making the choice to adhere to their fears. Victus couldn't even remember the last time he had such a luxury.

He and his turian brothers and sisters were running out of time faster than anyone else in this room. He took a slow breath through his nasal plates. Stay calm. Assess the situation. It would appear that the dalatrass, Asteria, and Han'Gerrel are allied for this particular battle

' _And what forces are at my disposal?'_ As if to answer his thoughts, Admiral Hackett cleared his throat before speaking.  
  
“The rachni were nothing but invaluable to the construction of the Crucible. I questioned Commander Shepard's judgement when they first showed up, but they proved themselves to my men and I. They were not a threat to us in any way and were there for our troops on the ground during the battle. I'd say they've more than earned a second chance.”

Victus decided almost immediately that he liked Hackett. As the human saying goes, he felt they were cut from the same cloth.' For the most part anyway, he'd proven to be a sound ally. They often agreed on most topics raised during these inane meetings and the man seemed to hold as little love for them as he did. The alliance between the two men was silent, but understood from the moment they found ways to combine their military tactics against the Reaper forces and communicated those tactics over the comm-link during the battle. Though, he felt it was a little early in the argument to play the “Shepard card,” but Adrien Victus would adapt to the flow of the battle, as he always has.

“And like Commander Shepard, you're proposing a solution to solve a short-term problem that will have long term consequences!” The dalatrass bit back. Her eyes flickered briefly in Wrex's direction.

Victus rested his elbows on the table and laced his four fingers together, keeping them elevated so that he could rest his chin against his thumbs. He glanced sideways at the unusually quiet Wrex seated to his right. Wrex, in turn, eyed the occupants ( _though mostly the dalatrass_ ) around the table with barely suppressed rage. As a krogan, Victus would expect him to be up in arms over the subject of the rachni, but he isn't.  
  
_'The Shepard Card,'_ He mentally concluded. _'An effective way to get Wrex to take a side. Hopefully ours, but don't overplay your hand Hackett.'_

“Admiral, I concur,” Victus began, keeping his hands in their current position with his chin on his thumbs to uphold a sense of calm. He momentarily shifted his glance to Hackett, before scanning the rest of the table's occupants. “I have also doubted Shepard's judgment.” -He glanced at Wrex- “It was a mistake that I won't make again.” He paused for a second to let that statement sit in the air between him and the krogan. Wrex was there when Victus learned the price he paid for doubting the fiery redhead and he was beside him as they both took a verbal stoning from an enraged Commander Shepard.

He averted his gaze off the krogan to address the rest of table once again. “Wrex and I were aboard the _Normandy_ when Shepard encountered the rachni queen. She later confided to us that the Reapers were the ones to blame for the Rachni War; That they were just as much a victim as any indoctrinated member of any species. She informed us that they are peaceful by nature and during my personal dealings with them, I have seen no evidence to suggest otherwise.” He hasn't. That doesn't mean that he's completely comfortable with them, but admitting that right now would be sheer folly.

“Trust them if you must, but do not presume the rest of us to be so foolish, Primarch!” Irissa snapped.  
  
“I think we should at least consider it.” Admiral Shala'Raan said as she shifted her weight forward on the table. “If the rachni are willing to alleviate some of the workload from the geth long enough for them to reactivate more of their units it would certainly buy us time.”  
  
“Buy us time to _what_ ?” The dalatrass shot back. “To bend over so they can liquefy us and drink our fluids while our backs are turned?”  
  
“Perhaps with a side of _trust,_ ” the asari mused, her violet eyes alive with mirth at the very idea.  
  
A loud _thud_ reverberated in the room as a heavy fist came down on the hardwood table and everyone fell silent, their eyes swiveling to Wrex as he slowly lowered himself back into his seat. He had left a spiderweb of cracks where his fist met the wood. Victus took a sip from his cup of hot water as he glanced sideways at whom he hoped was his krogan ally.

“I dare any of you pyjacks to claim they hate the rachni more than I do!” He boomed and gesticulated with his thumb to his chest. His lips were peeled back in a vicious snarl. “But _I_ ” -he jabbed at his chest with his thumb- “don't have to _like_ them, let alone _trust_ them. _Shepard_ trusted them. And I trust _her_. That's good enough for me and after all she's done for you ingrates, it should damn well be good enough for _you_.”  
  
“Agreed,” said Hackett, not bothering to mask the pride in his voice. Although whether that pride was in himself for successfully appealing to Wrex's loyalty to his former commander or if it was pride in his own mentioned soldier, Victus couldn't be sure.  
  
“Agreed,” Victus affirmed with a nod.

 

* * *

 

The meeting was adjourned at long last after the quarian admirals had made the 2-1 decision in favor of Victus, Wrex, and Hackett. The rachni would help with the Sol relay in order for the geth to replenish their numbers and then resume work. Hopefully, the construction would end before the last remaining cache of dextro supplies on Earth did. Upon stepping outside into the cold London fog it occurred to him that he had spent the majority of the day in that room. His stiff joints only reinforced the knowledge of having spent hours in a chair. He lifted his gaze to the sky and almost felt the urge to smile when he saw Earth's sunset colored sky poking through the clouds. It reminded him of Palaven's eternally yellow and orange daytime sky.

Ignoring the relentless chill in his bones, he made his descent down the white marbled steps of the building that they had designated as the conference office. The steps had been cleared of rubble and, as a result, stood in stark contrast to the rest of the city of London, now in ruins. Whole neighborhoods where human families had established their homes in happier days were completely abandoned. The walls that at one time contained the sounds of human laughter, of life, now played temporary host to the legions of turian soldiers seeking shelter from London's frigid nights. Well, the remaining, most structurally sound buildings at any rate. While some of the red bricked buildings remained, for the most part, as a whole, some were rendered little more than a three walled structure with a tarp for a roof to keep the rain out.

The other races had similar ideas, they themselves taking up residence in other vacated neighborhoods. Adrien Victus had made it clear to his men that they were to relinquish their lodgings to any returning family to show up, claiming the home as theirs. The circumstance has yet to happen. Unfortunately, bloody drag marks were a common sight in most of the homes, making the possibility of that happening highly unlikely.

“Primarch!” A strained, wheezing, unmistakably volus voice pierced his ear canal. “Primarch Victus! Please wait!” The Primarch's feet drew to a halt and he turned to see the owner of the voice waddling as fast as he could in his direction.

Han Karlo, volus treasurer to the turian hierarchy and former consultant to Primarch Fedorian. _'As well as colossal pain in my ass.'_ His job consisted primarily of economical advice to the Primarch. He was assigned to Victus by the hierarchy almost immediately after being named Primarch. While both on and off the Normandy Victus had to spend countless hours corresponding via vid-comm, but he hadn't actually met him in person until shortly before the battle for Earth began. He had already developed a mild dislike for the man. He imagined he wouldn't have minded him if only the volus didn't insist on reminding Victus every time he did something that was “highly irregular” or “not what Primarch Fedorian would have done!” ' _Which is frequently.'_

Victus still remembered his reaction when he had informed the volus that he had decided to put forward a movement to track down hundreds of colonial separatists and offer them a pardon if they agreed to fight for the homeworld during the worst of the war.

“ _But Primarch!” the volus had nearly shrieked through his vents. “This is highly irregular! The hierarchy is already bristling at your involvement of the krogan! This is- they are-”_  
  
“Can you _think of anyone else capable of surviving an unending siege against impossible odds?”_ That was the retort Victus threw back that had effectively ended the conversation.

Adrien Victus bit back a groan.

“Yes, Han. What is it?”

The volus came to a stop in front of Victus and hunched over, bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath before answering. “I have the total number of remaining dextro-rations that we have on hand.” His sentence broke as he inhaled and exhaled. “I was hoping to go over them with y -ahh!”

Han jumped higher then Victus had ever seen a volus jump when the quick, shimmering effect of a tactical cloak deactivating, triggered right next to him. A young, female turian appeared at Han Karlo's left. Her dusky hide was the color of dark chocolate and her plates were almost black. If she ever had facial markings, they had been scrubbed years ago leaving her face bare. She was comely, but gave off an air of menace to those who didn't know any better.

The turian woman assumed parade-rest with her arms folded behind her back. Her mandibles were flared in a smirk and her crimson eyes were alight with mischief.

“We have enough for four months, sir,” she said, with a nod at Victus, in her light, dual toned voice.

“I was going to say that!” Han snapped. He inhaled and exhaled before he continued. “How did you even? Oh never mind.”

Attilia was born and raised on Omega, of all places. Her single mother pushed her to the turian military when she turned fifteen in the hopes that she'd find a better life than the streets. Life spent on a cesspool like Omega left her hardened and the officers quickly found her difficult to work with and even more difficult when it came to placing her on a team. She showed an early tendency to go against her superiors if she saw an alternate method to get something done, which was why she was assigned under his command right out of basic. Victus was deemed the only officer that could deal with what they deemed as insubordination. It was, of course, but General Victus recognized a useful resource when he saw one. She flourished in his platoon.

Then her biotic abilities showed up and completely blindsided her. She was left with two options. Either join the cabals, which Victus knew would be a horrible waste of her abilities, or drop from the military entirely and be shipped back to Omega, which would be even worse. He wanted neither for her so he made calls and pulled strings and got her reassigned into Black Watch to be trained as an infiltrator.

Another turian would take one look at her bareface and flared biotics and immediately write her off as something not to be trusted. Victus looked at her and saw his most loyal agent. After being named Primarch, the hierarchy presented him with a comprehensive list of accomplished turians whom they felt would be the best guardians to keep him safe. So of course he disregarded the whole thing, even making a show of slowly tearing the list in half in front of Han just to hear him squeal, and contacted Attilia. She agreed immediately and has been behind him, in the shadows, ever since his departure from the _Normandy_. In fact, she had been the one to track down the separatists on his behalf.

“You'd think you'd be use to it by now, Han,” she said and stooped to nudge him playfully with her elbow. The nudge was a little too hard because the volus was knocked a bit off kilter.

“How can I?” He wheezed, recovering from his stumble and brushing off dirt from the front of his suit that only he could see. “You go out of your way to do that and you know it!”

“Liar,” she responded with a smiling flick of a mandible, allowing the outline of a few razor teeth to show, no doubt to intimidate.

“Enough,” Victus cut in, but he couldn't keep the slight grin from his face at the antics of his subordinates. “I would be happy to go over this with you, Han. You may join me in my lodgings. Attilia-” he turned his attention to her and she straightened at her name, “-stay out of trouble.”

She grinned, nodded and then responded with, “Yes, sir,” in the same second she reactivated her tactical cloak and shimmered out of view once again.

 

* * *

 

Another month had gone by, leaving them with now three months worth of rations. If only to add to that distressing bit of knowledge, they entered into the time that the humans called, December, leaving the atmosphere with a constant, unpleasant chill in the air.

Adrien Victus found himself looking around with both confusion and amusement as many of the humans began displaying odd behavior. They started singing songs at night while gathered around trashcan fires and hanging lights and green plastic rings Victus could only guess were supposed to be fake brush from a tree. The whole affair probably looked nice at one time, but now it just looked almost comical against the sorry state of the city.  
  
“Janet, hang the mistletoe from that bent-over streetlight!”  
  
“This Father Christmas cutout will be perfect to cover up this hole in the wall!”

And if Victus and his men thought London's cold was miserable before, they were tragically mistaken. Now there was snow. Snow! He could only recall seeing snow one time in his fifty years and that was when he and his crew had to make a stop on Noveria. He felt no compulsion to ever experience it again.  
  
“Strange,” he heard one human say, “we haven't had snow in years. Usually only five centimeters, if anything. I wonder if it has anything to do with all the dust in the air. Maybe the temperatures a few degrees south of ordinary now. How wonderful to have a white Christmas! ” He said it, wearing only a light jacket with a long, fluffy cloth around his neck, looking comfortable, even happy at the whole thing. He looked warm.

Victus glared at him.

 _'Of course it doesn't snow for years until I get marooned here.'_ Meanwhile Victus and the other turians had to don their armor yet again for the automated temperature control that it offered. Thankfully, they had also been able to get the heat going in the homes again. Heat and spirit-blessed hot water to shower in.

As strange as all that was to Victus, it didn't hold a candle to the situation that he found himself in now. He was currently sitting in a warm - _thank the Spirits-_ pub at a table with a small group of patrons that once called the _Normandy_ home. One was a clearly battle-hardened old human with a blind eye that called himself Zaeed. Apparently he had been on the _Normandy_ with Garrus and Commander Shepard when they attacked the Collector Base. The other patron was also human and one that he had met on several occasions- Steve Cortez. The last, and undoubtedly most surprising of all, was Wrex.

In fact, it had been Wrex who approached him and invited him here.  
  
“Hey, turian!” He boomed.

Another Primarch probably would have taken offense to the rude method of address. Adrien briefly wondered why he didn't, but he dismissed the thought as quick as it came. As much as he had been through and had been exposed to in just this passed year, he felt it an unnecessary thing to get riled over. “Me and some of the old Normandy crew are going to hit up the bar for booze and cards. Join us. That is, if your turian honor allows it.”

After getting over the initial surprise of being invited to do anything anywhere with the _Normandy_ crew, let alone Wrex, he allowed himself to consider the offer. What else would he do other than lay in his uncomfortable human bed until dreams of fire and smoke took him? He looked at Wrex for a moment, assessing if there was any hint of jest in his invitation.  
  
He must have taken too long to answer because Wrex shrugged his shoulders and rumbled, “Or don't,” and turned to walk away.

“Alright, krogan,” -he decided to return the jab- “Why the hell not?” That was when the shimmering of a tactical cloak signaled Attilia's appearance at his side with her talons glowing blue with biotic light. She eyed Wrex suspiciously with her near-crimson eyes. Victus wasn't aware how well krogan could hear or understand turian subharmonics, but Attilia's sang of warning.

“At ease, Watcher,” he calmly ordered and she assumed parade-rest, but her growl and glare never wavered.  
  
“She always so friendly?” Wrex had asked.  
  
“This is actually remarkable behavior for her,” Victus responded, raising his mandibles in a smirk at Attilia's direction. “She's not marking her territory or anything.”

“Christmas,” Zaeed scoffed with clear disgust. “Goddamn national consumerist holiday, 'smore like.”  
  
“I'm surprised to hear that _you_ have a problem with consumerism, Zaeed. Being a bounty hunter and all.” Cortez pointed out before asking, “do you have any threes?”  
  
“It's the corporate advertisement I can't stand,” the older man growled. “Go fish.”

It was late in the night _-'or is it morning now?'-_ and after playing five rounds of Skyllian Five, two rounds of an old turian card game called, Ludus, and one round of a silly human game called 'War' they were finishing up the evening with an even more childish human card game: Go Fish.

He had to admit though, he was having a good time even if he couldn't drink because the small amount of dextro alcohol available had all been consumed during the night of celebration when the Reapers died. Earlier in the night, the pub had been filled with more of the remaining _Normandy_ crew but they had all wandered off to their lodgings at this point.

“You got any sixes?” Wrex grumbled at Victus, but before he could tell Wrex to “go fish,” the double doors swung open, allowing a large krogan to walk through. He glanced around the room for a minute, before his eyes settled on Wrex and he began his approach.  
  
“Damn Weyrloc,” the new krogan growled at Wrex, clearly not bothered a bit with formalities. “Torf has been running his mouth all day. I just had to leave a crack or two in his brow plate.”  
  
“Good boy,” Wrex nodded his approval. “Are the new Aralack members finally getting their shit together?” The krogan, whom Victus could only assume was much younger than Wrex, shrugged his broad shoulders.  
  
“They're nothing like my old crew, but I guess they're coming along. Anyway, I just thought you should know before Torf comes whimpering to you later,” and he turned to leave.  
  
“Grunt,” Wrex growled, stopping the young krogan before he made his escape. “There's room here if you want to join us. You can sit with the Primarch,” Wrex finished by flashing a toothy grin at Victus.

The younger krogan eyed the vacant seat like it had said something highly offensive to him before gruffly responding with, “I'll pass,” and departed as quickly as he came in. For a long moment Wrex's eyes lingered on the wooden door his subordinate retreated through before he turned his attention back to the table.  
  
“Is he... is that battering ram actually sulking?” Zaeed inquired, his face contorted into a scrutinizing stare in the direction of the wooden door. He was answered with a quick nod of Wrex's head.  
  
“He's -uh... he's not taking Shepard's death well,” said Wrex as he glanced down at the wooden surface of the table and shook his large head. Suddenly a somber atmosphere seemed to descend on their table. It was in this moment that Victus could tell at a glance, that Wrex wasn't taking it too well either.

“I don't think any of us are,” Cortez added solemnly, his own eyes staring at one of his empty glasses.

Zaeed lifted his shot glass and quickly downed it. Victus had to wonder if that was the old mercenary's way of showing his remorse at the mention of the commander's loss. Zaeed brusquely wiped his mouth of any lingering moisture from his drink with a sigh.  
  
“If that's what Grunt looks like, imagine Garrus,” Zaeed grunted. He sounded almost remorseful at the thought. Almost. “That turian hardly went anywhere without Shepard. I'd be surprised if he even took a shit without her outside the door,” he finished, now sounding amused.

Now that was a mental image Victus didn't need. While he knew Zaeed's statement was an exaggeration, it wasn't entirely untrue. When Victus was on the _Normandy_ , it hadn't escaped his notice that Commander Shepard always took his adviser along with her on every single mission she did. Though they kept their relationship mostly professional in his presence he could always see the ease and casualness between them. The stares that lingered a little too long. The friendly jabs at each other. The warm smiles when they thought no one was looking. He knew there was something more between them well before the time he'd unfortunately walked in on them once.

He'd made the mistake of entering the _Normandy's_ battery in search of Garrus when he'd failed to answer three of his calls. Thankfully Commander Shepard was not aware the door opened because her naked back was turned to him as she straddled Vakarian on the floor and was otherwise... too preoccupied to notice. Garrus, on the other hand, had a clear view of the door over Shepard's shoulder and he stared wide-eyed at the Primarch. Victus remembered that he could just about see the dawning realization that he'd forgotten to lock the door enter Garrus' mind. Without a word, Victus had turned and left the two of them. He never did find out if Garrus had told Commander Shepard about that. She made no indication that he had.

Cortez had hid his face in his hands, shaking his head at the mention of Garrus' name. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm kind of glad he's not here,” he groaned between his hands. “Though if he and the crew are alive somewhere, not knowing her fate has got to be killing him just the same. It's got to be killing all of them.”

“They're alive, boy, believe me,” Zaeed offered. “Joker's goddamn useless at just about everything, but he can fly that fucking ship. Not to mention all those upgrades Shepard had done before the Collector Base. The ship's fine,” he finished by downing another shot and the table fell silent in their thoughts of the missing _Normandy_ and her crew.

Victus suddenly felt like an intruder.

“Garrus though,” Zaeed suddenly spoke up again with a frown on his worn face, “I miss Garrus.”

It was a surreal feeling that washed over Victus in that moment. There he was, a Relay 314 survivor, sitting at a table with the leader of the krogan and two humans. One of those humans has to be old enough to remember the war and he had just launched into a story about him and Vakarian rigging Shepard's apartment with bombs and traps in order to, "slaughter any goddamn clone that fancied a bite to eat."

The krogan and the other human laughed loudly at the story and threw in their own takes because they were there. To say these were strange times was a vast understatement.  
  
“You should have seen Garrus during our hunt for Saren, Victus,” Wrex boomed. “Picture this uptight little squirt, hell-bent on trying to make a good impression.” Wrex laughed loudly as a memory took hold of him. “I remember one time, we were in an elevator on the Citadel. I asked him, _'hey Garrus, who would win in a fight, you or Shepard?'_ He -he looks right at me and says-” He broke off to laugh again, but once he contained it, he changed his voice to something that Victus could only guess was supposed to be Garrus. “ _'-that question is dripping with impertinence! Blah-blah-blah-blah!'_ ”

The image Wrex painted was enough to get Victus laughing _with_ the group this time. The Garrus in Wrex's story was definitely _not_ the Adviser that Victus worked with on Menae. That Garrus would have answered the question with some smart-mouth response. He most certainly made his own comments and quips _'dripping with impertinence,'_ that left Conrinthus seething with rage several times and he did it without missing a beat, an easy swagger in this stance and his mandibles pulled in a smirk. Garrus must have went through a lot of changes since joining Shepard's crew. He supposed he'd have to in order to have ended up getting caught plates deep in his commander by the Primarch of Palaven.

When the three of them finished their reminiscing, Cortez stretched his arms over his head and slowly climbed to his feet. “Thanks for the company guys, but I'm turning in,” he said with a yawn and turned to drunkenly stagger out the door.  
  
“I gotta piss,” was all Zaeed said as he too stood from the table and made his way the other direction to the bathroom, leaving only Victus and Wrex to occupy the table.  
  
“It is late,” Victus acknowledged. “And I'm not looking forward to tomorrow's conference as it is. I've already come dangerously close to falling asleep on a normal day.”  
  
“Dangerously close?” Wrex quipped. “You have. I had to kick your chair last month, remember?”  
  
“Ah,” Victus began, remembering how the heel of his own hand had been cradling his right mandible and then roughly smarted it when Wrex had sent a sharp thump through his chair. By krogan standards it was a light kick but it was still enough to send his chair sliding about six centimeters. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to kick you,” he responded with a shrug.  
  
Victus replied with a bark of laughter. If he had been told thirty years ago that he'd be sitting at a table as the Primarch of Palaven, in a human pub, with the leader of the krogan, shortly after agreeing to end the genophage, well... he wasn't sure what he'd do. Laugh for starters and then maybe consider putting the messenger out of their misery because they were clearly out of their mind. Victus briefly considered that maybe he was too, because despite the fact that they were at odds when they met, he now found that he didn't mind Wrex so much anymore. He considered the possibility that, out of the long list of turians that were originally ahead of him in the hierarchy, he was perhaps the only one that could even put up with Wrex without bristling at the remarks he made. Maybe witnessing the krogan interact with Shepard and Vakarian, two people Wrex did like, prepared him for his blunt sense of humor.

“I am curious though, Wrex. What made you invite me here?” It was something he'd been wondering since the krogan approached him.

“Actually it was -uh, well you knew her as Eve. Now that we got the comm buoys going again, I was able to talk to her yesterday. She went on for a while about... practicing diplomacy to strengthen galactic relations,” he said the last part with a lot of vague hand gestures. Victus got the impression that he was making an attempt to mimic the female krogan. “I thought this would be a good start. Well... that and -uh... she told me that they finally moved to collect the dead from your... from your son's platoon on Tuchunka.”  
  
Wrex paused for a moment to eye Victus; Perhaps to look for some facial response since he didn't seem likely to receive a verbal one. Victus didn't know what to say. Other than his dreams that deprived him of sleep, he thought little of his son, let alone holding any hope of receiving his remains. He couldn't allow himself to mourn, not during the war and certainly not now, when his people looked to him to lead them and to be their voice in the conferences. He still had work to do. Wrex's words were probably meant to be reassuring in his own... way, but they did nothing but drop an ice-cold stone in his stomach. That stone felt like it landed on his sheet of composure that he used to cover up his grief, cracking it and allowing the grief to bare itself to the surface. It was all he could do to breathe deeply through his nose, not trusting his voice to speak, but he knew he had to.

He must have taken too long to answer or maybe Wrex simply took pity on him because he continued on before Victus had to force himself to say something.

“She made the decision to burn their remains separately from each other. She wasn't sure what else to do with them and Tuchunka's hot. Dead don't last long before they start rot-uh... it's an old krogan tradition to burn our honored dead when we can. She felt that they deserved that. As soon as the relays are up and running again, she'll have them sent to Palaven.” Victus saw the backpedal for what it was and how Wrex added the last part quickly. Had this been any other topic, Victus might have found it amusing or even endearing at how hard Wrex was truly trying to be diplomatic. Right now though, the current topic only left him cold.

“She has my gratitude, Wrex” he said, hoping Wrex couldn't hear the hitch in his subvocals. “Palaven's temperature is just about on par with Tunchunka's. Cremation is also an old tradition of ours.”  
  
Wrex was silent for a moment, his crimson eyes settled on his empty glass before him. As Victus watched him, he got the strange feeling that if krogan could give off subvocals, Wrex's would be singing of uncertainty right now. Finally, his large crimson eyes raised from the glass and met his own.  
  
“You know I... I know what it's like to... shit,” his expression became one of confusion and even anger. “What I'm trying to say is... I've lost a child too. Several times actually. They were all stillborn, sure, but still...” A low rumbling growl emanated from Wrex for a moment before continuing. “It never really leaves you. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your boy.”

“Thank you, Wrex,” he wanted to say more such as, 'he died with honor,' but the words wouldn't come so he settled by simply nodding his head.

A long silence stretched between them as Wrex took on a pensive expression. Finally he broke the silence by saying, “Diplomatic relations... that's the way we're going to get a seat on the council.”  
  
Decades of being taught to be wary of krogan and their violent tendencies was what fueled Victus' initial reaction of shying away from that statement. He assumed this topic would come up at some point, but that did little to help him prepare a response. The turian in him felt vehemently against the idea, but he couldn't deny hearing another voice inside that admitted that it might be something to consider. At any rate, whatever sense of brief camaraderie they shared just moments ago had dissipated and was replaced by another uneasy silence.  
  
“You don't agree,” Wrex stated. “You don't have to. We've earned it. The other races can't deny that.”  
  
_'Your females breed by the thousands,'_ he wanted to say. _'On top of that, you live for centuries. If things change, your people could easily overrun us.'_  
  
“It's not that simple, Wrex, and you know it. They're afraid of another rebellion and that fear is not unwarranted. You talk all the time about fighting and how much you enjoy it.”  
  
“Of course I like fighting, I'm a krogan,” he growled. “But war... I'm _sick_ of war.” The last four words were carried forth not by a violent specimen of a race bent on destruction, but by an exhausted man who has seen and done too much. Victus could only stare at Wrex as he stared back with crimson eyes set in a centuries old, scarred face. He realized that, for the first time, he could actually see just how worn Wrex's face was from the long fatigue of a weary life. For a second he allowed himself to wonder if that was how his own face appeared to others.

The moment of silence drew a little longer before Wrex lifted his considerable bulk from his seat and turned toward the door, leaving Victus alone with his thoughts and his shame.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Adrien only managed a few hours of sleep before Sol crept its way up over the horizon. As most mornings went, he woke by snapping bolt upright in his bed with his talons feeling the innards of his cowl for his infant son he always refused to leave behind. He would then remind himself that it was a dream, likely brought on from a fitful sleep spent on an unaccommodating human bed. He showered quickly, dressed and was out the door, heading for the conference office within twenty minutes, pausing only to accept a cup of heated water from Han.

When he climbed the marble steps and entered the office, he was dismayed to see that the other representatives had already arrived and thatthey all watched him as he entered. He mumbled an apology and quickly took what hadsomehow become his usual seat between Hackett and Wrex.

“Morning, princess,” he heard Wrex mumble under his breath. “Sleep well?”

“Princess, is it?” Victus quietly acknowledged. “I suppose that's a step up from simply 'turian.' I didn't realize I had grown on you so much, Wrex.”

Wrex snorted a laugh.

“Next you're going to tell me that you've got a spot open for me in your bed.”

“Now you're pushing it, turian.”

“Alas, I've stepped back down.”

“We're all absolutely _enchanted_ to have you join us, Primarch,” Irissa intoned, as if Victus hasn't taken part in every single _fucking_ gathering they've had to date.

“Wouldn't dream of missing it, my dear,” Victus drawled with a mocking grin.

“If we could begin,” snapped the dalatrass, clearly annoyed at the unprofessional exchange. “I believe the admirals have some news that concerns us all. Admirals, if you'd please.”

It was Admiral Shala'Raan that answered.

“We have had an interesting development in the repair of the Sol relay.”She paused to let the implication sink into the room's occupants. “While the geth rebuilt themselves, with rachni assistance, we have completely replenished the relay's structure in its entirety.”

“In addition to that,” Admiral Koris added. “The geth were able to rebuild themselves to an adequate number to then begin work on the relay's mass effect drive. They have been successful.”

The silence that fell on the room was deafening as everyone processed that information. All eyes were on the quarian admirals as Koris went on.

“However, we have encountered a drawback that leads to a rather interesting development. Normally, the Sol relay is connected to the relay located in the Exodus Cluster, but due to the events of that red beam, it would appear that the Exodus relay is also inactive.”

“I think it's safe to assume that all the relays are likely in the same state,” Victus added. Koris nodded at him.

“We agree, Primarch, which is what leads me to the new development. The geth believe that they can, in a sense, rewire the system so that it sends a signal to other relays.”

“We've conducted tests,” Shala'Raan chimed in. “It would appear that not all relays can receive the signal. In fact, only three can: The Trebia system, the Parnitha system, and the Pranas System.”

“The systems containing the homeworlds of the three Council races,” Irissa said slowly.

_'That can't be a coincidence.'_ Victus thought darkly.

“Bar humans,” Hackett added. “Probably because we've only had our seat for a year.”

_'And it appears Hackett is on the same train of thought.'_

“Well,don't keep us in suspense admirals. What does this mean?” The dalatrass asked.

“It means,” Han'gerrel said. “That we can reset the Sol system's link to another relay. Instead of the Exodus Cluster, we can link it to one of your homeworlds.

Victus took that moment to turn to Hackett. “With the comm buoys restored, we've been able to communicate with our homeworlds, Admiral,” Victus told him. “My people have been working on Trebia's relay since the first moment of opportunity, but it's nowhere near complete. To my understanding, the relays in Parnitha and Pranas are no better.” His eyes swept over Irissa and the dalatrass and they both nodded their confirmation.

“What even is the significance of this signal?” The asari asked, fixing the quarian admiralty with a skeptical look. “Even if we permanently connected the Sol relay with Parnitha's, what good would it do when our relay isn't even active to receive it?”

“That's where you're wrong,” Koris replied. “For whatever reason, your relays are receiving the signal. Perhaps they aren't damaged quite as badly as the rest, I don't know. It's impossible to say from our end.”

“We can, and have, sent large objects through,” said Han'Gerrel. “But until we have a permanent and solid connection, I hesitate to send any manned ships through.” The room went silent again. “We have to assume it's a one-way trip until the relay on the other side is repaired as well, but after everything we've learned while working on Sol...”

“Repair time would go a lot quicker.” Victus finished. “From there, we can systematically repair each of the relays.”

“Which begs the question: who do we link our relay to?” Hackett asked, knowing full well he was parroting, verbatim, the thought on everyone's mind.

The silence ended and the room erupted.

“Pranas, of course!” The dalatrass snapped. “The galaxy _needs_ our scientists.”

“And what would your scientists have without us?” It almost delighted Victus to see Irissa _finally_ turn on the thorn-in-his-backside known as the dalatrass. “ _Your_ scientists depend on _my_ race. Without the asari the galactic community collapses.”

“It already has!” The dalatrass was already shouting now. “My people have the minds to fix it!”

“Don't forget, Linron, that it was the asari that made first contact with your people-”

“-And benefited! You cannot honestly think the asari would have gotten as far as they have without-”

“-Your people live an eye's blink in my people's eyes! The galaxy needs Thessia for long term stability!”

It was downright amusing, watching the two of them bicker. Their unspoken alliance, broken. Victus has seen the dalatrass angry. Hell, he's _made_ the dalatrass angry, but he's never seen her like this. Her knuckles had whitened as she gripped the edge of the table. Her whole body practically shook with rage.

“The galaxy needs intelligence to restore order, not pole dancers!” A blue glow silhouetted the asari form as her biotics fired up and suddenly the game was over. Victus saw Hackett shrink back slightly in his seat at that comment and moved his hand to his hip, clearly to rest his hand on his pistol. Obscenities flew from Irissa's lips at a pace too rapid for Victus' translator to pick up, guards around the room stiffened and readied themselves to protect their personal diplomats, and even the quarians placed hands on their pistols. He heard Attilia shift behind him under the cover of her cloaking device and Wrex... _'Is he smiling?'_

The alliance Commander Shepard worked hard for. Fought for. Bled for. Died for. It was all dissolving before his eyes in a petty squabble like two privates in their barracks, fighting over a newly discovered _Fornax_ magazine. Victus was amused no longer. His body reacted before his brain did and he got to his feet.

“ENOUGH!” The word was shouted with the use of both his vocal cords. The second set embraced the word and continued it even after the first had snapped off. The loud thrum of the vibrations reverberated hard enough to ripple water that had stilled in abandoned glasses across the room. Every other (visible) turian in the room noticeably winced at his voice. It had the desired effect though. All voices stopped and all eyes were on him.

He stepped back from his chair, folded his hands behind his back and began slowly pacing up and down the length of his side of the table. It only felt natural to do so as if he was back in his position as a general and he was about to address a platoon of soldiers. In this case, it was a dress down.

“Where were the asari during the war summit?” His eyes were on Irissa and she noticeably bristled at the question.

“I don't know what you-”

“They were absent.” He answered for her.

“That was Tevos' deci-”

“The war summit was called in an attempt to unite our races early on. Despite the fact we were under attack by the Reapers, the asari chose to stand aside; to handle the situation on their own-”

“Really, Victus?-”

“-And failed.” His feet halted and he stared at Irissa, letting the occupants of the room marinate with the final word, but no one seemed more affected than the said asari. Her facial features took on a cool impassiveness that was only betrayed by the way her eyes flashed angrily.

“Don't you dare,” she said in a low, icy tone. “Don't you talk about Thessia like I wasn't there. I saw the destruction. If anyone failed, it was Shepard that-”

“Careful, Spectre,” Victus cut her off. “You'll earn no friends here by taking that name in vain.” Mercifully, Irissa's rage could not completely eclipse her ability to reason. Her mouth pressed in a grim line and she stared at Victus with eyes that held nothing but contempt. The general in Victus recognized the retreat for what it was. His opponent wanted to regroup and take a different tactic, but he could not allow it. He had her right where he wanted her; angry and making mistakes. It riled a twisted sense of predatory pride in him, watching his prey struggle while backed into a corner.

“I don't see how-”

“We can trust you to not make the same choice again after proving yourselves an incompetent ally? I don't see how we can either.”

“You see?” The dalatrass quipped, looking as smug as ever. “ _Pranas_ is the obvious choice.”

Victus fixed his eyes on the dalatrass and let all the coldness he's felt for the woman escape through his gaze. He wasn't done yet, but before he could speak, a flash of orange ignited in his peripheral vision. He turned his head toward the direction of the flash and found that the source was Wrex's omni-tool. The rest of the room followed Victus' gaze and landed on the krogan as well.

Wrex was focused entirely on his omini-tool, obviously looking for something on it. Seconds later, he seemed to have found it because his eyes slid up to the dalatrass' face and, without looking down, pressed play. A voice emitted from the device and Victus recognized it instantly. It was the dalatrass.

_“Let Urdnot Wrex believe you fulfilled your promise.”_

_“Mordin would never stand for that.”_ And Commander Shepard's voice.

“ _How you deal with him is up to you, Commander. We can provide you our very best scientists to build the Crucible and the full support of our fleets-”_

_“_ If _I sabotage the cure...”_

“ _The choice is yours.”_

There was a pause while Wrex pushed some buttons on his omni-tool again and another, much shorter audio played. This time, Hackett's voice emitted.

_“I take it that leaves the salarians out of the equation.”_

_“The cost of their support was too high, sir.”_

The audio stopped and the room turned their eyes on the dalatrass whom had gone white. Her large, dark eyes had widened in shock and her mouth hung slightly ajar.

“Both the asari and salarians only decided to commit their forces when they had no other choice,” Victus concluded.

“How hypocritical of you, Victus,” the dalatrass spat. “You stand over there, high and mighty when you're just as guilty.”

“That's right,” Irissa chimed in for a feeble attempt at reigniting their alliance when, of course, it came to attacking him. ' _So be it.'_ “You wouldn't commit your forces until you had krogan aid.”

“Yes,” He admitted, keeping his face unreadable. “The alternative would be to withdraw my defenses and leave my planet and my people completely unguarded and opened to annihilation. Palaven was under heavy attack from the Reapers, if you recall. They hit us right after Earth. Once we had krogan support, I kept my end of the bargain and sent support to Earth. Your planets were untouched for quite some time and still, you wouldn't even _negotiate_.” His sub-vocals snapped the last word of the sentence like the crack of a rifle.

“Untouched but not unthreatened,” said the dalatrass. “In our place, you would have done the same thing, Victus. How can you expect _us_ to abandon our planet to support another when we still had time before the Reapers attacked.”

“We did,” rumbled Wrex. The simplicity of those two words and the implication behind them rang heavily in the room. It seemed to be all that was needed to silence Irissa and the dalatrass.

“The krogan were there for the turians and the turians were there for Earth,” Victus went on. “I ask again, _where_ were you?” He paused and waited for any further retorts, but when he received none, he turned to Hackett. “The Sol relay is in Alliance space, Admiral. So I leave the decision to you on which system-” _'People',_ he thought quietly. “-you'd rather be linked to. The one that saw negotiation between our systems as the best choice, or the ones that saw it as a last one.”

Victus returned to his seat, but his gaze remained on the proverbial battlefield. His opponents now sat divided in the shattered remains of their imaginative ramparts. Their alliance broken. Now that he had put into motion the tactical risk of turning the decision over to Hackett, all that was left to do was sit and watch the outcome as the Admiral got to his feet.

====

The meeting lasted another thirty minutes after Hackett had made his decision. The quarian admirals had also agreed to leave the final decision to the Alliance. Unsurprisingly, the dalatrass and Irissa voted against it, and Victus was pleased to see that his strategy had worked. The turians will be the first ones to leave Earth. As Victus made his way down the marble staircase with the rest of the day still ahead of him, Han caught up to him and fell into a hurried step beside him. Victus mentally readied himself to hear all the ways he'd handled the situation incorrectly.

“Primarch, that was-”

_'Highly irregular.'_

“-impressive.”

Victus had just managed to rein in the 'what?' that sprang to his tongue and he turned his gaze down to Han, silently indicating him to elaborate.

“Admittedly, the krogan's audio helped, but you handled the situation beautifully. In one word you got the entire room's attention and silenced arguably the two most experienced diplomats present, simultaneously strengthening relations with the Alliance even further.”

Victus wasn't sure how to respond. Should he admit to the volus that he handled a delicate and potentially catastrophic political gathering the same way he would if he was in a makeshift war room, making battlefield plans? After a second of thought, he decided to settle with a simple, “Thank you, Han.”

“I can send a message to each Platoon General to inform the troops of today's outcome,” Han said, stopping to breathe deeply through the vents of his suit. “Though, perhaps some discretion might be prudent.”

“No. Call a meeting of the encampment. My men have waited long enough for this news. I wish to tell them myself.”

“Yourself, but that's-” He stopped, seeming to reconsider his words. Then, with a sigh he didn't bother hiding, he responded with a quick, “At once, sir.”

Word had spread quickly through the encampment of the meeting and by 1900 hours, every turian lucky enough to not be assigned to guard duty had assembled in what had once been a supermarket. The shelves had long been picked by looters during the invasion and had been moved to large rooms that had once served as warehouses to the business.

Victus stood at the forefront, feeling mostly at ease. His days as a general had made him accustomed to addressing a room of people, he reasoned, though he couldn't remember a time he had ever addressed this many. Still, there was a slight feeling of sadness that itched the back of his mind. The building was large, yes, but before the Reaper war, it would never have come close to housing the sheer mass that was the turian military. The fact that the bulk of the army that had followed him to Earth had been reduced to a number small enough to fit inside one building, even one as large as this, was disheartening. Judging by the looks on some of the turians as they scanned their environment, that piece of information wasn't lost on them either.

Once the room had grown quiet, Victus allowed the General side of himself to take over. He stood at his full height, hands folded behind his back and his feet chose a path to pace slowly. Human speakers use a device to amplify their voices when addressing a large room such as this. Turians, Victus thought with a small swell of pride, need no such devices.

“Soldiers,” he said calmly, but his voice boomed, amplified by the vibrations of his sub-vocals. The word was enough to still every turian body from one end of the building to the other. “I'm not one for long speeches and platitudes so don't think for a second that this is practiced. Those unlucky enough to serve under me in the past will attest to that, I'm sure.” He heard a couple distant chortles in the crowd, which made his mandibles flick in a small smile. “I look upon your faces and I see fatigue and scars. We have fought an unprecedented war and we came out victorious, but you don't need me to tell you that it was not without great cost.”

He took a moment to sweep his eyes over the crowd. Many faces had turned down to stare at the floor. Others stared at him or at a far wall with their throats looking tight and constricted to suppress sub-vocals as the ghosts of lost loved ones descended upon the room and ran through the minds of the occupants. “Some of us gave limbs. Most of us gave blood. All of us gave a comrade. A loved one.” For a second, he saw Tarquin in the face of a particularly young turian standing in the front. Victus blinked, and he was gone. “Great costs, but none in vain, because despite the horrors we have faced, here we stand: shoulder to shoulder. Brothers and sisters, we are _victorious_! We faced down the most powerful enemy in galactic history and the turian military is _still_ standing!”

A crescendo of subharmonics hit him then. From them he felt grief and even anger, but also pride. His feet paused as he bathed in the vibrations emitting from the room. It was almost overwhelming and he had to fight not to turn away. It was the turian way to not merely hear words and emotions in the way that other species do, but to _feel_ them and feel them he did. His eyes closed of their own accord and he felt the stories. Lives. Loss. Fear. Relief. He felt drawn to it and grief sprung to his mind as it did when Tarquin forced his way up and the temptation became so strong to emit a hum of grief himself, but he knew to refrain. The soldiers did it as a show of support and trust. They were listening and engaged and behind him as their leader. They had served him as soldiers and now it was his turn to serve as not only their leader, but their pillar of strength. He always knew that, but somehow that element of his role was made even more clear in that moment.

He knew he could silence them in an instant, but he wouldn't. He owed them this much. He took deep breaths and waited. After several moments the hum died, leaving him drained, but mercifully still standing. He concentrated hard in order to not sway. When his eyes opened, he was greeted with the image of thousands of eyes focused hard on him, but not in a hostile way.

The word 'hope' sprung to his mind. It was hope that bore holes in his body and for the first time since the fight with the Reapers had ended, he felt true fear. This time he did sway, and he had to take a step back to recompose himself. His mind launched into a barrage of insults at his weakness.

What the hell was he doing?

He is no Primarch.

He knew his speech wouldn't be long, but he found himself fighting for words.

_'Maybe I should have listened to Han and rehearsed this.'_

He picked a spot at the back of the room, looking past the thousands of faces he knew to still be on him. He could only hope they couldn't see the way his hands shook.

“Today I was informed that the Sol relay is up and running again- however,” He had to add quickly because the crowd began to stir. “Due to complications those more knowledgeable than I can explain, a decision had to be made on which system to link the relay to.” He saw a thousand eyes widen at the implication and the atmosphere of the room suddenly changed. It became charged with excitement and the crowd began to move like a giant beast coming to life as individual turians leaned forward or shifted weight from foot to foot.

“You have all done Palaven proud. Therefore, it is my great honor as its Primarch to deliver a bit of news I think you will all appreciate. Brothers and sisters... we're going home.”

The deafening roar that erupted from the building carried far into the night.

  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

The revelry of his soldiers made it easy for Victus to make his escape from the crowd. He was careful to keep his face stoic, his stride easy, and his posture straight when every nerve in him screamed to run. It's too loud. He's too exposed.

He's too cowardly.

 _'Retreat,'_ the general in him bid. _'Retreat to safe ground and get your bearings.'_

As he made his way for the door, he heard the familiar and most welcome trill of Attilia emit from an empty space beside him. He didn't stop to look. He knew he didn't need to, that she would easily fall into step beside him.

“I'm with you, sir,” her trill hummed. “I'll get you out of here.”

He felt a small draft as she quickened her steps and the unseen weight of her moved ahead of him. As they approached the door, the guards at post straightened themselves far beyond what he'd consider necessary and snapped a salute, which somehow only served to make him feel more uneasy. In appearance, it was the same he'd received countless times as a general from his men, but with a definite air of formality. It was a salute to a member of the Hierarchy. The highest member. A Primarch. Him.

He gave them a curt nod as he moved between them, hearing a soft hum of excitement from them as he did and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was not meant to have heard it.

 _'The Primarch himself just addressed them,'_ Victus reasoned to himself. _'Any good turian would be excited by that.'_

The thought made his gut twist.

Snowflakes swirled in the freezing night air when it hit him, but for once, it wasn't unwelcome. He was tempted to stop and just take a moment to breathe, but he pushed past it. He knew reporters were circling like predators waiting for their prey to weaken or wander into an area where they could strike with ease.

He and Attilia walked a brisk pace through the streets, hurrying without actively running. She led him through broken, desolate buildings and narrow alleys that she had taken the time to learn. They stuck to darkened streets, though many of the paths they walked couldn't be called so much “streets” as they were holloways, carved through dilapidated buildings and other leaning ramparts still yet to be removed. They left two-toed prints in the thin sheet of snow as they moved.

All the while his mind raced faster than his feet did. He tried to suppress the anger and shame he felt towards himself.

' _The fear,'_ but it refused to abate. He even began to wonder if it really was the crowds and reporters he was running from.

As they neared the house he had taken refuge in, Attilia veered off to take an extra route around the perimeter. He followed without bothering to actually check for intruders or traps. He couldn't bring himself to care.

“All clear, sir,” Attilia said, with a sharp jerk of her head toward the door. As they approached the red-brick steps, she turned to Victus and assumed parade rest, her posture perfect. “I'll take up post out here with your leave, sir,” she said with a perfect militarily disciplined voice completely devoid of its usual mirth. She looked and sounded every bit the perfect turian her bareface and biotics put her at odds with. The mischievous Omega street pyjak was nowhere in sight.

“Very good, Watcher,” Victus managed before mounting the staircase. He had enough time to open the door, but before he could walk (or duck his head and stoop) past the threshold, he heard Attilia speak again behind him.

“Permission to speak, sir?”

He just managed to withhold his exasperated sigh.

“Granted.”

“I can tell that you're upset,” now her voice was unsure. “You hide it well, but... not from me. For what it's worth, I-I just wanted to say that I thought you did great.”

It was a compliment, he knew, but somehow it only managed to twist the knot in his gut further. He didn't trust his voice so he chose to instead cross the threshold and shut the door. Some basic instinct in him forced his hand to reach for the light switch to illuminate his surroundings. He quickly scanned the room for intruders, but then made his way toward the stairs and to his bedroom. His room was also dark with the exception of moonlight streaking in from his window. This time, he did not bother to turn the light on.

He moved to his window in order to pull the curtains shut, but before he did so, he allowed his eyes to gaze down at the streets. Thousands of turians celebrated once again, reveling in the news their Primarch brought them. The Primarch that, unbeknownst to them, sat alone _hiding_ in his room. Hiding in a way that a good turian soldier never would.

He shut the curtains with a little more force than necessary and began the process of removing his armor, placing the pieces neatly in a trunk. Fortunately, the damage done to his house's central heating was not irreparable and, with it fixed and on, he was quite comfortable to strip himself bare.

He perched himself on the edge of the stiff human mattress and stared into the resolute blackness of his room. He allowed the dark void to seep into him, silencing any and all stimuli and finally allowing him to think. He felt his lungs release a breath of air he didn't know he was holding. His muscles relaxed and he felt welcomed in the darkness, and he in turn, welcomed it like an old friend. What a grand gift mere privacy is especially when you are denied it so often.

A single talon-tipped finger twitched toward his nightstand drawer, but he caught it in time when he remembered that the liquid contents it sought had been drained weeks ago. Instead he settled himself down on the bed, closed his eyes, and willed his mind in another direction; of simpler times when his only priorities were Mags, Tarquin, and following the orders of _his_ superiors.

Victus opened his eyes just long enough to activate his omni-tool and select an audio clip he had saved away long ago just for dark, private moments like this. He hit play.

“ _Hey, private,”_ he heard the disembodied voice speak. In the background, he could hear a siren wailing. The voice was breathy, it's owner clearly moving quickly.

“ _Wouldn't you know it, there's a problem on board and only I can fix it.”_ It was meant to be humorous, but the sub vocals shook with fear.

 _“Spirits, I really hope this recording reaches you,”_ -He heard a fist slam against what sounded like an elevator button- _“I don't have long, but I just wanted to say-really quick, that you and Tarquin are everything to me.”_ From past experiences, he knew that the voice speaking was usually calm and above all, confident. Sometimes even cocky, but never without merit. That's why it stands to reason that his blood always ran cold during this part of the recording because this was the part when the normally confident voice that he knew so well, began to crack with emotion. With affection. With _fear_. _“I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do, but it's the only way I can get my crew out of here safely.”_

He then heard the voice snap, _“Fucking_ _batarians,”_ away from the omni-tool before returning.

 _“I love you both_ so _much, Adrien. Please never-”_ the audio cut off right there, as it always did.

There was a time when the audio would leave him keening loudly, but now it was _almost_ a comfort. He used to beg and pray to any spirit listening to tell him what she meant to say. _Please never- what?_ But no spirit ever graced him with an answer and he had come to terms long ago that none ever would. All he could do was be thankful that he received the recording at all. It served well to remind him that more and more these days, he felt himself being torn in three different directions by three different people and they all wore his face.

It was _General_ Victus who inwardly raged and beat his fists against the suffocating walls of political agenda and protocol.

Then of course there's the newly emerging _Primarch_ Victus. His eyelids scrunched shut and he squeezed his hand into a fist. This was the side of him that left a vile taste in his mouth because, dare he thought it, he sometimes felt a minuscule amount of... satisfaction with the newfound _power_ his title granted him. At first, he chalked it up to a typical feeling of accomplishment one feels after any victory. Yet, in the deep recesses of his mind, he hears a voice that makes him more and more unsure of that.

Finally, it's the grieving bondmate and father, _Adrien_ Victus. He is the one who wakes up from the repetitive burning nightmares in a cold sweat,with his talons clutching desperately at his cowl in search for the absent warmth of his newborn. He is the one that appreciates Mag's recording and listens to it in order to remind himself who he is at the end of the day. He is the one most suppressed by the other two sides and wants nothing more than to return home, step down from the Primarch tier, and finally mourn his son in peace.

He hit play on his omni-tool one last time and settled himself under the sheet for another attempt at sleep. Unfortunately, it seemed determined to allude him. He laid there for what seemed like hours, lying completely still with his eyes closed until suddenly, he felt an instinct scream at him to open them. He couldn't even say what triggered it because he heard no noise.

Everything happened too fast for his mind to register in the moment. It wouldn't be until later, when he looked back and pieced together the span of a couple seconds, that he would remember the way his hand flew for the sidearm he kept under his pillow. He pointed it toward the void, saw a blue flash of biotics illuminate both his and now a second gray, steel sidearm and heard the click of a barrel being cocked. Something in his brain registered who it was and in another half second later, a powerful voice boomed, “HOLD,” with all the command and authority one could only develop through years of experience behind it. It was the other half of the second later when he realized it was his own.

The once black room was now lit by the steady blue glow of biotics, revealing not just one new occupant, but two. The glow shined from the hands of Irissa Asteria. Her right arm was wrenched behind her back while her left was cocked toward the door, evidently holding it shut with her biotics. Not that holding the door did her any good because, standing behind her was six feet of angry female turian. One clawed hand, enveloped in her own biotic field, trapped the asari's right arm, while the other pressed a pistol to the temple of her prey. Her finger trembled, with what Victus knew to be anticipation, on the trigger. By the brief flicker of fear in Irissa's violet eyes, Attilia was not a factor she'd planned for.

“Irissa, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Victus purred, using the sound to cover up the actuality that his adrenaline-injected heart was hammering against his chest.

“I'm not here to kill you, _Victus_ ,” she snarled his name. “Your girlfriend can let go.”

Victus gave a short huff of laughter to convey his scepticism of that. If Attilia heard the jab, she showed no signs of it. Her face was perfectly stoic, her mind on one objective; to listen for _his_ order to kill.

“So I'm to believe you simply came here for an audience?”

“That's right,” she smiled and made an attempt to relax her stance. The shift caused a shadow of resoluteness to pass Attilia's eyes and Victus growled a quick, curt warning before the Watcher's finger could complete itsinevitable squeeze on the trigger.

“If I were you, Spectre, I wouldn't move,” he drawled.

“Call her off and we can talk.” The arm wrenched behind her back had to be causing the asari some extreme discomfort. Victus couldn't dredge up the ability to care.

“Most people make an appointment when they want to speak with me. At the very least they approach me during the day.” He gestured, with the hand not holding his pistol, toward his state of undress below the sheets. “I find myself at a disadvantage... unless that's what you intended?” He flicked his right mandible into a suggestive smile. He made sure his teeth could be seen. “I don't mean to imply that I'm not flattered at the proposition, but I'm not one to look outside my race for _that_ sort of companionship.”

He saw the anger flash at the implication, but she remained still.

“Don't flatter yourself!” She snapped and made a sound of disgust. “And if I really wanted you dead, Victus, believe me, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

“And so we are, but make no mistake, you are only alive because I gave the order not to kill you. To do sowould only cause more turmoil that we don't need.”

“Which is exactly why, as I said, I'm not here to kill you. If I wanted you dead, you would be. Your girlfriend here is good, but she's no match for an asari commando.”

“And yet, you are the one incapacitated. Strange,” he replied sardonically. “Now, in case you haven't noticed, it's not only late, but my men would have heard that order I gave and they'll be here shortly. Can you please make whatever point you came here to?”

To her credit, Irissa was now remarkably calm considering she had one gun barrel placed at her temple while staring down the barrel of another. Victus got the notion that this probably wasn't the first time the Spectre faced a situation like this.

“Despite what you might think of me,” she began. “I care deeply for my people. We both know the Councillors are dead.”

“Missing,” he corrected, though he was aware exactly how false he was. Yes, search parties were still combing through the wreckage of the Citadel, but it had been a solid two months since any more survivors were found on the station. Nothing but death resided there now. He knew that. He had a leaning stack of reports on his desk saying as much.

“Dead and, as soon as it's convenient and the truth drops, people will begin a search for the next replacements.”

“And you want the job, I'm guessing. As well as my support?”

“You're half right. I want the job, yes, but when it's offered to you, I want you to decline.”

He was too slow to stop the surprise from showing on his features and Irissa smiled.

“You _have_ heard your soldiers talking, I assume?”

He hadn't and his silence was all the evidence Irissa needed to confirm that.

“Goddess, Victus, truly? You're all they talk about especially after tonight, not to mention your little display in the conference office earlier. You don't need me to tell you that people talk, even turians. You've become something of an idol to them. Of _course_ you'll be their number one pick.”

“Not necessarily,” he countered. “There are other Primarchs, other diplomats on other turian colonies. Any of them could be picked as well.”

_Assuming they're alive._

“And how many of them are being called 'Kaisar,' I wonder?”She cooed and this time Victus didn't bother to stop the surprise.

 _Kaisar_ was a name invoked by the turian rebels during the rebellion. It was a name bestowed on any leader willing to rise up against the hierarchy and fight. Centuries later, it became a known taboo among civilized turians especially on Palaven. To invoke the name meant implying someone was _above_ Primarch and, therefore, above order and likely to sympathize with chaos. Anarchy.

“You're lying.” Somehow, he knew she wasn't.

“Ask your girlfriend here, if you don't believe me.” Armored boots could now be heard storming the lower level of the house. Irissa's eyes flickered briefly toward the door and then back to him.

“You don't want that, Victus. You're no diplomat. Go back to Palaven where you belong and stay there. And when the offer comes, do yourself and your people a favor and deny it. You and I both know you'll be better off for it.”

Irissa must have released the door because it banged open, allowing entrance to his very armed soldiers.

“Are you alright, Primarch Victus?” The one at the front asked as he took in the odd and very tense scene before him.

Attilia's eyes never left the side of Irissa's head, still waiting for an order.

“This is embarrassing. I'm fine, lieutenant.” He addressed the turian that spoke, making a point of lowering his gun in the process. “Ms. Asteria here simply came in search of -ah... companionship.” Victus didn't need to look at Irissa to know she was glaring murderously at him. He could all but feel her eyes burning holes into his face. “In her attempt at discretion, she alerted my Watcher and the situation escalated.” He finally shifted his attention back to Irissa and Attilia, still frozen in their places.

“I'm truly sorry that you mistook our earlier encounters as interest, Ms. Asteria,” _-'if looks could kill'-_ “but as I've told you before, my interests lie firmly with the women of my race.” _'I'd be dead. Beyond dead.'_ He almost smiled.

“You did well, Watcher. You may release your target.” For a brief, horrible second, he thought Attilia might resist the order, but thankfully she acquiesced. She holstered her pistol, folded her hands behind her back and assumed parade rest, though her eyes remained trained on the back of Irissa's head.

“Lieutenant, please escort Ms. Asteria safely back to her lodgings.”

“Don't touch me,” she hissed as the lieutenant took a step toward her. With one last nothing-short-of-homicidal look in Victus' direction, the asari walked briskly out of the room. Attila rotated in place as Irissa's form left, never removing her eyes from her target.

It was only after they heard the front door slam (obviously by the hand of an enraged Irissa) and then subsequently opened and closed again much more gently (by his soldiers), did Attilia finally relax and turned to Victus.

“I'm sorry, sir,” she said in earnest before launching into a string of apologies. “She should have never gotten past me. I don't even know how she did it. I checked the perimeter several times. I was vigilant for heat signatures the entire time.” Victus watched her as his former protege began to pace, mumbling every precautionary procedure she'd performed. After a moment, he held a hand up which halted both her feet and whatever new tirade she was about to berate herself with. She turned the kind of rapt attention he never saw her give to any other officer, onto him.

“Attilia, you were up against an asari commando with over a hundred years of Spectre training and still managed to incapacitate her. The only reason she's still alive is-”  
  
“-Because you gave-”

“-Because you followed-”

“An order,” they finished together. Her crimson eyes sought his and her expression slowly lifted into a slight grin.

“And what a poor soldier they said you'd make,” Victus teased, which earned him a subdued, yet not unappreciative, laugh.

“Yeah well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't agree with them at the time. Hell, even now it's just _your_ orders, sir.”

“Be that as it may, you did well.” She looked at him with the same proud look Tarquin had given him when he had returned home on leave from basic, having graduated at the top of his class. Victus had to look away and forced his mind to shift track.

“So tell me, is what she said true?” The smile slid off the youthful face and her mandibles pinched submissively to her jawline. He almost expected her to question exactly which part he meant, but he knew that he didn't have to. He fixed the young turian with an expectant stare that would have had any other soldier squirming.

“They feel as if you're the first diplomat to sympathize with them,” she supplied, cocking her head slightly to the left for a capitulating gesture. “And the first one who doesn't put up with the sh- er- games that politicians play.”

 _'If only that were still true,'_ he thought bitterly to himself.

“Your men mean more to you than faceless pawns on a battlefield and you proved that to them when you fought with them, sir. When push came to shove you bloodied your hands with them on the front lines. That's not something to forget. Likewise, you mean more to them than-”

“A _Primarch_ ,” he cut in, his sub-vocals barking the word almost harshly.

Attilia winced, but pushed on, “I was going to say 'diplomat.'”

“Have you personally heard any of them use 'Kaisar' when speaking of me?”

“Only a small minority, sir, but most of them do speak of you like you've already taken Sparatus' place as Councillor.”

“Unacceptable,” his mouth said before his mind caught up. Attila stiffened. “We're going back home, Attilia, but regardless of whether that's tomorrow or next month we don't know what kind of Palaven we're going back to and I won't tolerate that kind of talk in the ranks. The people back home have been without leadership or word of what's going on for months now. Undoubtedly, the other members of the hierarchy must have stepped up, but we don't even know who they are. We aren't even clear why the Reapers just stopped working and those on Palaven know even less. We find ourselves in a power vacuum the likes of which not even the oldest matriarch has seen. If my men return to that world, spouting this ' _Kaisar'_ nonsense, what kind of chaos could that ensue? It needs to stop. Now,” he finished with a growl.

“Understood,” Attilia responded with a nod. “I'll put the message out immediately.”

“Good. Put the word out that I will not tolerate any more talk of _Kaisar_ and then go get some rest,” he said sternly, without brooking room for an argument.

It was then Victus noticed the bright sunlight outlining the dark curtains of his window. Once again, Sol had risen and put an end to another long, restless night on Earth. Feeling more tired than ever, he dismissed Attilia and dragged his feet to the bathroom.

Having no immediate plans or appointments, he took his time under the hot water in the shower, allowing the heat to sink under his plates and reach his bones. He closed his eyes and pressed his brow against the cool tile. He let himself pretend it was Mags' brow that pressed back and he sighed, wondering what she would think of all this.

 _'Someone finds me important enough to view me as a threat to their power play.'_ And that's what it was, wasn't it? Councillors must convene and vote in order to pass any movement. The fact that they have to come to a consensus in order to pass anything looks good on paper as a proper method to check and balance power, but in practice it opens up an opportunity for parties to scheme and bribe in order to get their way. People like Sparatus, and other politicians of that ilk.

 _'It's not a game I intend to play and Irissa knows it. I'd make her life as a Councillor very difficult.'_ _H_ e snorted at the thought, finding the whole idea ridiculous. After all, he's still struggling to come to terms with being a post-war Primarch, let alone a Councillor. No, that position wasn't even on his radar. Though, he didn't intend to let Irissa know that just yet. Let her sweat.

He flicked a mandible into rueful smile, but as he felt the tile against his head shift, he was too slow to stop his head from sinking through the water-softened wall. He snapped his head back in surprise, forgetting how much taller he is than his human-made shower head and only remembering after he scraped his fringe smartly against it, effectively snapping the nozzle off the wall. He turned around, blinking past the stars that had shot up in his vision from the pain. He looked on, horror-stricken as hot water gushed out of the pipe. Momentarily forgetting his aching fringe, his hands snapped up to where he remembered the controls to be. The water pooling at his feet did his footing no favors on the tile floor and, before he could get the water off, he lost his footing and fell gracelessly- and very un-Primarchly- to the floor with a wet thud.

He scrambled away from the cascading water, but decided to remain where he was on the floor with his back resting against the wall in defeat. Partly due to his frustration at the circumstances, but mostly due to the fact that his left hip screamed its protest at having to break his fall. From his vantage point, he could look up at the destruction he inflicted. He cursed loudly to himself, suddenly feeling his age more than ever, and raised a hand to prod gently at his throbbing fringe. It would seem that not even the universe was merciful enough to grant him one private moment of spite without punishing him for it.

 

* * *

 

As the week went on, the city of London stubbornly refused to relinquish the vexing fog that sent a chill through his bones every time he set foot outside his door. It remained settled over the once-metropolis like a sheet thrown over a pile of clutter to conceal the haphazard mess that London had become.

Irissa had not approached him again, though Attilia seemed more on edge these days since their encounter with the asari. Not that he needed the extra protection because Victus spent most of his days bent over his desk, thumbing through mind-numbing reports outlining their situation as it changed or didn't change, as the case most often was. The one thing that he could count on to be in constant flux was their dwindling food supply. If the situation didn't change soon, he foresaw he and his men having to resort to eating levo rations if only for the sake of staving off hunger pains. It was what they had to do as they neared the final push of the war.

_'My men clawed tooth and talon against horrors none of them could prepare for. They earned their victory only to have to face down a new potential threat except this time it isn't one they can beat by shooting at it.'_

Needless to say, when the call _finally_ came from his engineers exactly eight days after the last meeting, that the Sol relay was as ready as it was going to be, a feeling of pure exhilaration swelled within him. For a moment, he pushed the thought of Palaven's potential state away and allowed himself to enjoy the brief respite of knowing his men hadn't earned a hard-fought victory only to starve to death in the end.

Having a new goal set before them, the turian military turned their collective focus on readying their ships for the trip back home. In terms of repairs, any salvageable ships they had left had been made space-worthy again months ago. For every ship lost, hundreds of turians were lost with them, making available space for this current trip a complete nonissue. Given any other circumstance, that would be good news but during this one, it was just an unneeded reminder of just how many they had lost.

That particular number grew every day.

Victus had arrived at Earth with all but four of his remaining dreadnoughts at the time, choosing to leave the last four in Palaven's orbit for whatever last bit of defense they could offer. _'And I knew it to be the suicide order that it was.'_ They had been down eleven dreadnoughts from their initial thirty-seven, which is something he wouldn't have believed possible at any previous point in his life. Eleven of their most powerful battleships, manned only by the best and brightest the turian military had to offer, crushed as if little more than small frigates. Of the twenty-six he brought to Earth, he had nineteen left, which still left the turians heads and shoulders over what the other races had left. Whatever minuscule amount of comfort that truth offered would soon be snuffed out when he has to pass through the debris field, that is Earth's orbit, made up of ships and bodies and those last seven dreadnoughts.

The dreadnought Victus had chosen out of the remaining nineteen was the very same one that had brought him to Earth in the first place; the _Viteaz_. He chose her not for her battle prowess, though it matched up well with the other dreadnoughts in the turian fleet, but because it was Mag's favorite ship to serve on as chief-engineer. ' _She must have spent a weeks-worth of hours on the drive core alone.'_

When, at last, boarding day finally arrived, it came with little to no fanfare, which was how Victus liked it. Hackett had approached him with an outstretched hand, a human gesture that Victus quickly grew accustomed to while on the _Normandy_. Cortez approached him too with the same gesture and even Wrex had shown up to see him off, though it was with more of a nod than anything else.

“I'll update you as soon as I can, about getting your men home,” Victus told him.

Wrex grunted and replied with, “Can't wait to get them off your planet, can you Primarch?” It was hard to tell if it was an accusation or not, true as it may be. Victus decided to err on the side of caution in case it was.

“Their food supplies must be running low at this point, Wrex. I'm sure they're just as eager to-”

“I was only kidding,” he grinned and clapped a heavy hand on Victus' back, knocking him slightly off kilter in the process. “Doubt there's much ryncol on Palaven to keep them occupied for long anyway.”

It wouldn't be until Victus was stationed on the dreadnought, overlooking the CIC that he would realize Wrex had not referred to him as “turian.”

As peculiar as his encounter with Wrex had been, what really made him pause were the turian soldiers around him. While many of them were quick to board their shuttles and frigates with their packs slung over their backs, there were many who were not in such a hurry. He looked around and noticed many turians saying what appeared to be heartfelt goodbyes to new human friends they had made. Even a few lovers.

He watched as one turian stooped to heft a large dog into his arms. The dog wiggled and squirmed in the man's grasp to lick happily at the soldier'sface. The soldier allowed it for several seconds before he put the dog down, ran his talons through its fur one last time and then quickly turned away and headed for his shuttle like a man scared of changing his mind. Palaven was no place for any Earth animal.

Next he noticed a turian he recognized as one of the surviving C- Sec officers extracted from the Citadel. He stood with a young, blonde, female human. The very same human he had been found with, both injured, but alive and judging by the officer's state when he was recovered, he must have gonethrough hell to keep the girl safe. Her eyes shonewith unshed tears as she threw her arms around his neck and Victus watched as the officer, albeit a bit awkwardly, returned the embrace. He released her after a few seconds and then gave her shoulder a squeeze, a gesture more in linewith turian culture and said something to her that Victus was too far away to hear. The girl nodded her head and watched as her savior turned and headed toward his shuttle.

It took a good collective hour and a half until Adrien was able to set foot through the airlock and enter the familiar and most welcome surroundings of the _Viteaz_. The metal floor vibrated with life from the drive core, humming away below deck like a great beast purring its welcome to its master. The sound of multiple sets of talons tapping away at control consoles, bringing lights of varying colors to blink alive in response, caused a wave of nostalgia to wash over Victus. The lighting was dim, as is typical for turian ships. Their occupants don't need much light and found what little was provided from the numerous tiny bulbs lining the floors and ceilings to be adequate.

His footsteps carried him slowly, but with purpose, feeling more at ease than he had in... he couldn't remember how long. He felt like he was finally back in his element. Funny how he received the highest title the Hierarchy can give and yet, it was only now, walking the command deck of this great war machine did he truly feel the power and authority he possessed.

As he stepped up onto the command console and looked over the sprawling galaxy map before him- a turian feature he recognized in the _Normandy_ \- he felt at home and at peace. A single talon on his left hand caressed the railing like a lost lover and he closed his eyes and thought of his lost mate and how much this ship meant to her.

_'She did well, Mags. You would have been proud.'_

His eyes opened and he looked up to take in the scene before him. The holo of the Milky Way spun slowly like a languid dance partner. Bordering his partner sat the survivors, _his_ survivors, waiting to bring the beast alive at his order. Their faces glowed not only literally from the orange light of their screens, but with hope and determination. Pride and confidence swelled in him with renewed vitality and he felt his grip suddenly tighten on the railing he'd been gently caressing a moment ago.  
  
“Flight Lieutenant,” he spoke loudly without shouting, feeling his sub-vocals carry his voice. He didn't miss the way some of the techs suddenly straightened in their chairs. “Analysis.”  
  
“All crew accounted for and all systems operating at full capacity, sir. Ready to initiate FTL on your order,” said a dual-toned voice over the comm. In his peripheral vision he noticed some of the techs cracking their knuckles and stretching their necks in anticipation. They were like artists preparing themselves to get back to work on their individual masterpieces that had been left sitting for far too long.

“Acknowledged. Let's stretch her legs.” As if by extension of his will alone, the _Viteaz_ roared to life all around him like an eager varren who'd at long last had its restraints removed. Lights grew brighter as switches were flipped and commands were given by the surrounding techs.

Any turian could hear the smile in the flight lieutenant's subharmonics when he responded with, “Understood, sir. ETA to the Sol relay in two hours.”

 

* * *

 

The transport shuttle Victus found himself on rattled loudly as it entered Palaven's atmosphere. The dreadnought was too large to land even when Cipritine wasn't destroyed. Instead the turians kept it in orbit around Palaven, using shuttles to transport fuel and supplies as needed. He wasn't alone on the shuttle. He shared his long bench, as well as the one across from him with a small platoon of soldiers, the first wave to be transported from the dreadnought. Beside him, to his right, sat Han Karlo. His legs were too short for his feet to meet the steel floor so he contented himself to lean back against the wall with his feet dangling off the edge of the bench.

The Primarch sat stone-still with a hand resting on each of his knees, listening to the sound as a welcome distraction from his unwelcome thoughts. The strength and purpose he'd felt on the _Viteaz_ had utterly vanished now. The relay jump felt just as exhilarating to him as it had the very first time he'd ever ridden a relay before. That was due entirely to the fact that there was no guaranteeing their survival like all the other times he'd made that jump. Those were done with tried and true relays; Not one that had just been repaired by a combined force of races, including rachni and geth. A triumphant trill had vibrated through the Command Deck after the successful jump. Suddenly, being back home became more of a reality than it had in months. Unfortunately, the excitement didn't last long past the relay jump, as euphoria died and gave way to dread at the very real thought of exactly how much of home was left to return to.

One look around the cabin told him that the soldiers around him were harboring similar thoughts. The only sound among them was the shuttle's engines and Han's loud, vented breathing. If someone looked upon the group, not knowing any better, they would think they're about to land in an enemy hot zone, not returning home after a year away. This would be Victus' first time on Palaven's surface since he was sent to Menae, but he saw more video footage than he'd ever want to of its destruction during the Reaper invasion. He saw explosions. Heard the dual-toned agonized shouts and screams as turian men and women were slaughtered like beasts. And he was expected to face the destruction and grim faces as the leader of this whole damn planet.

 _Spirits, have mercy._ Back on Earth, he could think of little else than getting back to Palaven, but now that he was here, he found himself almost hoping that a misfired missile would take out his shuttle before it could land.

He was granted no such mercy as the shuttle landed in what was left of the Cipritine port. It occurred to Victus that his little shuttle was likely the first vessel to come into port since the Reapers were defeated and a lot of tech was wiped out along with them. Victus rose from the bench, knowing that as the highest ranking militant on board he was required to stand first, unless he ordered otherwise. He knew, in this case, he could, but he felt like he needed to see Palaven first. His eyes should be the first on the shuttle to take in the destruction and know, before they do, just what his men and women will see and feel.

Han pushed himself off the bench almost at the same time Victus stood. Clearly turian protocol was lost on the Volus, and he followed Victus as he made his way to the hatch. The volus took a deep, vented breath and said “Welcomehome, Primarch,” just as the hydraulics lifted the hatch, and granted Victus the first view of his home.

He froze. The videos couldn't have prepared him. The first shock was the fact that he actually _could_ see the city from where he stood. Cipritine port used to have walls and a ceiling before, but like the rest of the homes and buildings Victus could see beyond the port, they had been reduced to rubble.

The smell alone was enough to choke him. Six months may have gone by since the Reapers' defeat but the ruined city still smelled of smoke and death. The acknowledgement in the back of his mind that Earth had, indeed, been worse did little to placate his sorrows.

Earth was not home. As Adrien, he looked upon the skeletal ruins of where he was born, where he was raised, where he laughed with his friends, where he met and fell in love with Mags then raised their son.

As the Primarch, he looked upon the desecration of not only his own memories but of the turian people. _His_ people.

He looked upon his empire of dirt and ashes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this was where I had initially planned to end the first chapter. Thirty-four pages later and I realized my first chapter was probably too long, but I didn't want to cut out all that I had written so I decided to split it up. I hope the first three chapters were enjoyable. I plan to have the fourth one up soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly had more planned for this chapter, but I really liked how it ended and wanted to leave it there. I apologize for the shortness, but I promise Garrus for the next one. Thank you for the kudos and the comment. I hope you all enjoy. :)

One of the biggest grievances Victus had while he was stuck on Earthwas having to sit in a chair and listen to overstuffed dignitaries drone on about one problem or another. More often than not, they danced around each other, taking jabs, and trying to snatch what benefits they could, often leaving the initial problem unresolved for weeks. Who knows how much time could have been saved had they gone with the rachni plan when it had been brought up the first time. As uncomfortable as he inwardly was with the plan, it had been a successful one.

Victus was under no illusion that that part of his job would cease as soon as he got to Palaven. Hell, he knew it would probably get worse, but at least he'd be dealing with members of his own race, over immediate matters for the recovery of their near-fallen empire. He imagined them figuratively putting their heads together, discussing ideas and strategy and leaving the room with a clearer idea of at least _one_ problem.

He must have been losing his mind on Earth because in this moment, he wanted to kick himself for even entertaining the idea that a meeting with the Hierarchy would somehow be more pleasant than what he's been dealing with. He found himself sitting in a chair -albeit, probably the most comfortable chair that's ever graced his ass- on one side of a five-sided table. Four other representatives sat around the other sides of the pentagon, each one the top of their chain of command for their respective field. It took Adrien exactly .06 seconds -he counted- to decide that, while the people sitting across from him were of his race, they were not his people, let alone in his corner. By the way they suppressed their sub-vocals, he deduced that they had long dropped their inner soldier in favor of scheming diplomat.

 _'And the newest thing to add to my ever-growing list of events that I thought would never happen:_ _I actually miss Wrex.'_

Before the war, making it to this table -or at least the idea of it- the old one had been completely destroyed along with the millennium-old building it had been in- was a true feat. It required charisma, yes, something every diplomat requires. _'And something I sorely lack.'_ But it also required true and proven merit. Knowledge. It required years of being promoted by supervisor after supervisor until reaching a level when the Primarch him or herself selects from a small list of candidates to serve as an adviser for their department. Of course, it would be impossible to know _everything_ about each branch in a field. For example, it would be pointless to ask a botanist about astrophysics. However, if the representative from the science sector _was_ a botanist in their line of work, they themselves had astrophysicists in the science field to defer to.

The idea behind it was that the Primarch would have the best and most accomplished people at his disposal for all matters and together, they work to benefit the turian people as a whole. At least that's how it worked until the Reapers came and turned the whole system upside down by burning through the list of potential candidates faster than they could be put forward. During the invasion, it seemed that Victus spoke with a different representative each time over vid-comm because their predecessor had been shot down or crushed under a building or succumbed to indoctrination the day before. As it was, the faces that stared back at him were not faces he knew and he couldn't help but wonder just how qualified they really were.

_'Which is troubling because I likely ended up with my title through similar means. The long list before me was dead.'_

After departing from their shuttle, Han, Attilia, and himself had boarded a skycar that had been waiting for them in order to bring them here. The Hierarchy used to conduct meetings in a grand and well-fortified building called _The Echelon_ , and that's where they would have gone had it still stood. As it was, the Reapers hit it, and hit it hard. To Victus' understanding, it had withheld for a remarkably long time, but even defenses as powerful as it had succumbed to the Reapers might. While on the shuttle, Han had gone over the names of the newest, and lately the longest-lasting in comparison to the last year, representatives in order to prepare him for this meeting.

Lucso Saberius was the representative for science and education. Numelio Ebolin led economics. Trella Mardex led peace keeping. Vina Hilso led technology.

“Primarch Victus, I can't express how good it is to have you here, sir,” Vina Hilso had said, sounding entirely rehearsed.

 _'Well, you could if you didn't keep your sub-vocals suppressed,'_ was what Victus wanted to say, but instead replied with, “It's good to be back.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to be patient with us. It will be quite the adjustment having you here, Primarch,” Numelio added. “We've had to begin rebuilding on our own and have grown... accustomed to procedures we've had to set forth in your absence.” He had also spoken with his sub-harmonics suppressed, but the meaning was clear. _This is our territory now. You are not needed._

“I understand,” Victus said, determined not to be baited. “Fortunately, my absence is at an end, and I look forward to working here with all of you. I'm sure you'll get used to my presence as well.” He said with a smile, making his meaning just as clear. _'I'm back. Get used to it.'_

“On that regard, sir,” it was Lucso Saberius who spoke up now. He was a gruff, middle-aged man with an uneven fringe and a bad habit of tapping his talons non-stop on the wooden table. “I feel it important to address the krogan problem first and foremost.”

Victus regarded the man, whom sat directly across from him. “Elaborate.”

He could tell the man was nervous. He made attempts at restraining his sub-harmonics to hide this fact, but was largely unsuccessful.

“We had set up a temporary compound to hold them, but-”

“You what?” Victus growled, his sub-harmonics broadcasting his disapproval.

“It was our collective decision, sir,” Trella chimed in, “to move the krogan to an area better suited for them. We couldn't have them just-”

“'Moved them,' did you say? Or corralled them like beasts?” Every turian at the table visibly bristled at the accusation. Victus prepared himself for the onslaught he knew to be coming.

“Primarch Victus, please understand,” Vina began. “We don't begrudge your decision to bring them here, but the war is over. When krogan are not pointed atan enemy they're not exactly... in line with normal civilization.”

“They're inconvenient,” Victus supplied.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Vina concluded. Victus suspected that a growl would have accompanied that statement had she not subdued it.

“One year, two months, and three days,” Victus said, running a quick calculation in his head that he was ninety percent sure was correct.

“Sir?” It was Lucso that voiced the clear confusion they all shared as they stared at Victus with hard eyes.

“We've maintained true peace with the krogan for one year, two months and three days. And in the span of weeks, you four threatened to undermine that. Do you have any idea how far this could set us back?”

It was Trella that responded with, “It would set us back because _they_ are uncivilized! How can they understand peace when they only know war? They only _want_ war.”

An image of Wrex conjured itself in Victus' mind at her words. His crimson eyes stared out through an old, weathered face and his voice growled, _“War. I'm sick of war.”_

Victus felt a knot of guilt twist in his gut because he wanted, _badly_ , to believe Wrex, but he just couldn't completely deny his silent agreement to Trella's words. It felt almost too easy to comply to that feeling. It was a truth he was raised with; felt comfort in. His inner turian demanded it to be true. The genophage was the only way to stop a war they, very possibly, could have lost. It was the _right_ choice.

 _'At the time,'_ a voice inside him said. _'The situation was different then. There was no Commander Shepard then, demonstrating the possibility of having a loyal and competent crew consisting of humans, asari, quarian, drell, salarian, krogan... turian.'_

The conversation was going south. He was alone in this battle with no backup. No reinforcements in the form of Wrex or Hackett was going to help him now. He had to turn the tide on his own so he steeled himself and resisted the urge to suppress his sub-harmonics. He had yet to do so in this conversation and he needed them to know just how confident he is in his conviction. To subdue them now would allude to dishonesty; that he doesn't truly believe what he's trying to convey. First, he actually needs to _feel_ confident in his conviction.

“As I'm sure you're aware, I spent some time on the _Normandy_. I was there when Commander Shepard called forth a giant thresher maw from the ground to swallow a Reaper in order to cure the genophage. For the sake of peace.” He paused to look each member in the eye. Of course they knew that part of the story. “But before that, and this might be news to you, my son and his whole platoon died to deactivate a bomb that _our people_ left behind on Tuchanka... a fail-safe as it were. Not unlike the way you corralled the krogan here, as a fail-safe, was it not? Get them together in one place so they're easy to take out should you need to.”

 _'Victory at any cost.'_ The last words of his son. A man whose last hours had been hell. He made a bad call that his men paid for. He was forced to scrape up the remains of his platoon, regain their respect, only to watch them die again. And again. Until he was the last one left. Dangling from a bomb. _Victory at any cost._ He died, fulfilling his mission. _Victory at any cost._ He died in order to secure a fragile peace. _Victory at any cost._ He died to save his people. _Victory at any cost._ He died for a peace that the ones in this room are now threatening to undue. _Victory at any cost._ He died.

He no longer needed to try to convince himself of his stance. Now, he was angry.

“That fail-safe _backfired._ ” The last word ripped from his chest with a vicious growl, containing all the rage he felt in that moment. He didn't miss the way they all winced and Lucso's talons had finally stopped their tapping, his hands now sitting quietly on the table. A thick silence had settled over the occupants of the room, disturbed only by the low vibrations emitting from Victus as his sub-vocals continued to resonate a constant rumble. “It backfired on our own people and my son and his men paid the price for it, in order to achieve peace and give _our_ people, _you_... some small, _fucking_ chance to come out alive. And you four chose to _fuck_ with that peace in _my_ absence.”

He rose from his seat, leaving his hands placed on the table and his body slightly hunched in a very predatory fashion. He had staked his claim, his territory on the room and the others acknowledged it by remaining seated, a clear submission to his dominance. After a long silence, Trella was the one to break it with, “I will arrange reparations immediately, sir." Her sub-harmonics purred with apology.

Victus acknowledged her atonement with a level stare, but otherwise did not move. His lack of objection served as his answer.

“You are all dismissed,” and he turned, leaving the room first on _his_ terms.

He had entered as an unwelcome outsider and he left as a Primarch.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to base Turian days of the week on latin names. They are as follows:  
> Lunae - Monday  
> Martis - Tuesday  
> Mercurii - Wednesday  
> Iovis – Thursday  
> Veneris - Friday  
> Saturni - Saturday  
> Solis - Sunday
> 
> Also, Garrus' father makes his appearance in this chapter and thus, me having to name him. After reading tarysande's wonderful Grace Shepard series, Kaius has long become my headcannon for Garrus' father. If this is a problem, I will happily change it.
> 
>  
> 
> **Edit as of 6/29/17: Bioware confirmed Garrus' father's cannon name as Castis months after I started writing this fic. I've since gone through and changed any mention of him to his cannon name. If you find Kaius written anywhere, please let me know so I can fix it. Thank you! :)**

A Primarch may be top of the hierarchy, but it was still just a tier, and a tier came with its own job like any other one below it. It's still a position worth respecting, of course, but that's due to the heavy responsibilities placed upon a Primarch. Turian culture is all about responsibilities. However, his tier does not make him any less expendable than any other turian. The only reason Sparatus wanted Fedorian rescued was to avoid the inconvenient situation of bringing in someone new and inexperienced to the position during a time of war, when experience is everything. So, of course, that was exactly what happened. However, no turian wants to be the one responsible-there's that word again- for getting a Primarch killed so, in that way, his or her life _is_ less expendable. It was still very contrary to the way he had seen it done on Earth. For example, he'd seen covers of tabloid journals that referred to the Prime Minister more like a celebrity than a leader.

He felt no real danger of traveling through Cipritine alone. He would keep a low profile, of course, but from what he saw glancing out the window of the skycar during their flight from the docking bay, people had their own, much bigger problems to deal with than worry about one turian walking down the street, even if it was the Primarch.

On that regard, after the meeting had ended, he chose to dismiss Han and Attilia. The latter was reluctant to leave, but he had no use or desire for a bodyguard at the moment. He was no longer on a foreign planet and turian notoriety doesn't have the same effect on the populace as it does for humans and other races. That was due to the way turians think as a whole.

Han had chosen to stay behind and review a progress report on the current state of the economy, written by Numelio. Victus suspected it would be more of a critique than anything else. He would have it forwarded to Victus upon completion with his notes on the matter. The next meeting was set to take place three days from then, on Mercurii, to discuss the matter and potential solutions.

With his newfound freedom, as brief as he knew it would be, his destination was decided:Home. Whether it was still standing or not, he wanted to see what had become of it before taking up lodgings elsewhere. He denied a skycar. His home wasn't an overly far journey and he felt the need for a walk. He had been away from Palaven for too long and longed to feel the sun on his plates again. With that in mind, the main entrance to the building opened to him, Trebia's rays hit his face, the golden sky came into view and as he readied to fill his lungs with Palaven air-

He froze.

He gazed upon once beloved shops and businesses, now devolved to toppled buildings and broken streets. Skycars lay grounded and abandoned, many of them completely burned out and full of bullet holes. Some were nothing but remnants of what they were because the rest of their body had been disintegrated upon impact during its owner's failed, and probably fatal escape. Evidence of Reaper beams showed themselves in the form of large, blackened trenches that crisscrossed the land like fresh scars. They cut through streets, buildings, homes. ' _Lives_.' The said creatures that fired those lasers could also still be seen, lying dead where they fell. Their colossal bodies dotted the terrain like fallen titans.

What left him stunned was not the death of the city that met his eyes... but the _life_ of it. Among the decay, there was a verve of turians in motion, rebuilding. Each one doing their part without instruction. The strongest ones were lifting heavy rubble out of the way while techs crouched beside heavy machinery with soldering tools in hand. Children dashed through the construction, bringing water and tools wherever needed. The elderly stood in the shade with datapads in hand, keeping track of shifts and breaks so that everyone got their share of rest.

Another detail caught his eye and made his heart swell further with pride. The faces of the workers were adorned with just about every colony marking there is. From the low-thought-of mercenary colony of Invictus to the dignified Palaven markings he himself bears, they were all working together. It didn't matter where they came from or whether they identified as Separatist or Hierarchy. In that moment, they were all simply turian.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Victus had spent several hours walking the streets and observing his people. His heart clenched at the sight of homelessness, something that hasn't existed on Palaven in a millennium. He took mental note to discuss it at the next meeting and what options are currently available in order to due away with that problem once again.  
  
On top of the heartache was true pride. Leave it to the turian race to put the needs of the whole first and foremost and start rebuilding. By the looks of it, they had begun as soon as the Reapers dropped dead. There were no true turian civilians. When the threat hit them, every home housed occupants that were very armed and very well trained. None of them would go quietly so it stood to reason that none of them would stand idle when there was still work to be done and every one of them was needed.

Satisfied with what he observed, he had left discreetly and now found himself coming up on his final destination. The road curved through the hills, bringing travelers out of the inner city and into the countryside surrounding it. He had about forty minutes of daylight left when his journey's end finally came into view.  
  
Or... it would have if it had not been utterly destroyed. The vanquisher lied dead and motionless less than a kilometer away. If Victus had to guess, the Reaper must have done it just moments before dying. He looked upon his family home, now just as dead and lifeless as the Reaper next to it. He approached slowly, not able to subdue his nerves at being so close to the Reaper and to see it here, beside everything he had loved.  
  
A chill ran up his spine followed by numbness as he approached the grave site where his fondest memories now rest. Here lied the lazy days he'd spent with his long-dead mate and all the years he'd spent raising his son alone. He could look across what used to be solid, defensive walls and see the shooting range he'd set up for his son to practice with in the backyard. He remembered how reluctant young Tarquin had been to fire a gun. The noise frightened him.

His mind knew just where to look to see the area Magrim use to tinker with electronics and the room that had served as Tarquin's refuge throughout his childhood and young adult life. His eyes slid through the rubble to where he knew the kitchen to be. That was where he and Tarquin spoke the most because that was the room his son frequented only second to his bedroom because, in his spare time, Tarquin loved to cook.

Adrien could still see what was left of the bar stools he perched on while his son busied himself with preparing a home-cooked meal. Every soldier has their favorite distraction and, from a young age, cooking was always Tarquin's. Adrien use to tease his son on just who, among his parents, he had inherited that talent from because neither he nor Mags were very good at cooking anything. Tarquin would smile and brush the joke off with something like, “you probably could if you tried. You're good at everything, dad.”

His eyes slid closed and he allowed himself to be absorbed in one of many memories of himself, coming home exhausted to find his son in the kitchen, as usual, preparing a meal for them both. He could almost smell the food and feel Tarquin's sub-harmonics as he talked about what he'd learned in school that day. One night, in particular, jumped out at him. It was the night Tarquin started talking about a girl he liked at school, though he tried to be casual about it in his obvious attempt to discreetly fish for advice on how to approach her.  
  
 _“So, uh... how_ did _you start talking to mom?”_ He'd asked as if inquiring about the weather, but his sub-harmonics gave his true intention away. His son was trying so hard to keep them hidden.  
  
 _“We were in boot camp. I saw her on the other side of the field. She was modding her gun and I decided that I had to have her. So I walked over and said-”_ Victus remembered the way Tarquin's attention had left his meal preparation to settle on him as he spoke. - _“Can I borrow your wrench?”_  
  
A pregnant silence had immediately fallen between him and Tarquin. The latter waiting for the former to continue a story that really didn't have much more to say. In reality, it had been days until he talked to Mags again, and even then, it had been _her_ to approach _him_ and ask to borrow _his_ wrench. As the silence stretched, Tarquin's bright, alert eyes narrowed at his father.  
  
 _“That's it?”_ He asked, subharmonics reflected his mild irritation.  
  
 _“That's it.”_ Victus nodded.   
  
_“But that can't be it,”_ Tarquin exclaimed. His body had now completely turned to face his father, abandoning his initial tactic of feigning only mild interest. His former task now sizzled unsupervised on the stove.  
  
 _“She approached me a few days later to ask me the same favor. That's when we started talking regularly.”_ Tarquin deflated at his response. His mandibles pinched his jaw and his green eyes shifted to the floor. He looked nothing short of crestfallen.  
  
 _“That's what I was afrai- er... what I thought,”_ he mumbled. _“Were you uh... nervous?”_ Those green eyes flickered back up and something that almost looked like hopeflashed through them, but it didn't last. They descended back to the floor as his son continued. _“Probably not. You don't get nervous.”_  
  
 _“My sub-harmonics trembled with every word I said to her,”_ Victus confessed. _“In fact, when I first approached her, I had a whole speech ready in my head, but I forgot all of it and the only thing I could think to do was ask for her wrench and retreat.”_

That earned him a laugh and Tarquin's mandibles fluttered with a smile.  
  
 _“I can't imagine you nervous about anything,”_ Tarquin said. His eyes raised tentatively to meet his father's. _“You're the bravest person I know.”_  
  
Victus barked a laugh.  
  
 _“Son, being scared is the only time a person_ can _be brave.”_  
  
Tarquin was silent as their eyes met in a long stare. Victus saw understanding there as the meaning of his words sunk in.  
  
 _“Just go talk to her,”_ Victus said, finally revealing his knowledge of what this conversation was really about when it started. The smell of burning food had met his nasal plates moments ago so Victus took the silence as an opportunity to lift a finger and point wordlessly at what he knew was the source. Then he watched Tarquin scramble to conduct what little damage control he could in an attempt to save their meal.  
  
Victus opened his eyes to stare at the present state of the exact spot his happy memory had taken him. He could almost taste the charred food he chose to eat that night anyway. Now it laid annihilated and painted in black shadows cast from the fallen Reaper as the sun set behind it.  
  
Tarquin would never cook again.

His eyes flickered away from his broken home and onto the just-as-broken Reaper. He stared at it for a moment, burning it into his memory. He felt anger beginning to simmer beneath the numbness inside. He imagined it standing upright, trumpeting that blood curdling roar just before annihilating his home. He wondered if it knew who the house belonged to. It had to leave the city to get here. Not many other targets out here. Victus' wonder turned to suspicion and his hands clenched into fists of rage.

White-hot fury surged through the numbness that previously had a hold of him and, before he could stop himself, a savage roar ripped through him. He stooped and grabbed anything loose from his house -a chunk of wall in this case- and chucked it as hard as he could against the body of the metal beast. Unsatisfied, he reached for something else -a picture frame- and repeated the action. Again. And again. And again,until a pile of odds and ends began to grow beside the Reaper and, even then, Victus didn't feel satisfied.

His pistol came up and his finger squeezed the trigger. The General inside him roared his disapproval at wasting ever-valuable ammo, but he didn't care. Anger drowned the disciplined voice until all he could hear, all he wanted to hear, were his own creative expletives. The first clip was exhausted in seconds. He slammed a replacement in and repeated the action. All the while, he shouted obscenities at the dead Reaper, not caring who heard him.  
  
“You took _everything_!” He howled, sub-harmonics vibrating with the kind of hatred he knew no word strong enough to express. “And for what? What was the purpose?” The offending Reaper remained absolute in its silence.

When he'd used his last clip, he scrabbled unceremoniously in the dirt, looking for rocks so he could throw those too. Twelve rocks were thrown before he collapsed, finally exhausted, breathing hard and wishing that anything he'd just done would have caused the creature _some_ amount of pain, though he knew that to be impossible. The thought only made him angrier.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It had been a week since his arrival back home. Victus had not returned to the ruins of his home. There were too many memories there and he couldn't afford to lose himself in that anger again. Instead, he had secured a new residence in an unremarkable apartment building that had sustained relatively little damage during the war. He was also happy to say that he was beginning to make some headway with the advising members of the Hierarchy. They'd go back and forth for hours on issues, and sometimes he was forced to concede their point of view, but he was still pleasantly surprised at how he was fairing.

Han had brought to his attention that the Hierarchy had shut down the V. F. I (Veteran's Fixed Income) act. It was a law that had been enacted centuries ago that promised all turian civilians, i.ethose that had served their standard fifteen years in the military, were compensated with a monthly income, whether they continued serving or not. The amount was only enough to guarantee the citizen enough credits for food and shelter, which was why there was no longer homelessness on Palaven. It had its limits, of course. It didn't pay for anything considered luxury. If a turian wanted extra money to indulge in ultimately unnecessary affairs, they had to go back to work until retirement.  
  
Initially, he felt dismayed at their decision to stop it, but he understood why they had to. The economy had utterly collapsed. The V. F. I had become unsustainable during the war. Han had promised to look into it.  
  
 _“I think we can get it going again fairly soon, Primarch,”_ Han had told him privately, after the meeting. _“We'll need to make temporary cuts elsewhere, but I think we can make it work. I'll have a plan outlined for you and Numelio to look over by months end.”_

After that discussioncame the topic of what to do with the dead Reapers themselves. Being the head of technology, Vina Hilso suggested breaking them apart for study and seeing what could be learned from them. That had earned a murmur of consideration from the group.  
  
“It is something to contemplate, sir,” Lucso chimed in. “Think of what we could learn from studying them. Undoubtedly, it is what the salarians will do to the ones on Sur'Kesh, if they haven't already.”  
  
Trella sat quietly, considering the option and then Numelio spoke up. “Or just drop them into our deepest oceans and let the pressure take care of them,” he said.  
  
“I agree with Numelio's assessment,” Victus said with a nod in the man's direction. “After everything we've been through, I won't take the risk that something is still stirring inside them.”

“With all due respect, sir,” said Lucso, his unsuppressed sub-harmonics truly rang with respect. “I think the benefits of what we could learn outweigh the risks.”  
  
Victus leveled a cool stare at Lucso.  
  
“Acknowledged,” said Victus. “And overruled. I will not allow them to pose even the slightest threat to my people again. I want each and every one of them _off_ my planet and on a direct course into the sun by years end.”

He didn't miss the way Lucso and Vina winced at his words and the loss of technology that they implied, but they nodded with a “yes, sir,” regardless.  
  
The last topic of the week they tackled was that of the krogan. Apparently, tensions were growing between them and the turian people. As buildings went up, their compound was becoming more and more in the way. They had been offered better lodgings, but the offer was all but ignored. A fight had not broken out yet, but Victus had the feeling that if things weren't resolved soon, it would only be a matter of time.  
  
He put out an order that the krogan were to be left alone until either a negotiation was reached (which he was dubious of) or they were able to finally get them back to Tuchunka.

For days, Victus poured over data pads on new bill propositions and why some were absolutely essential, but then he'd read a reply from a different adviser on how and why that same propositionwould procure the second annihilation of the turian people. He would spend hours reading the pros and cons of each argument and then the next day he'd face either the pleased smiles of the victors that proffered the bill or the icy stares of those opposed to it.

It was around noon when he received the message from Hackett that the _Normandy_ had finally made contact and was now docked at Earth. He dropped the current datapad on his desk-It was about water purification plants- and reread the message several times. The _Normandy_ had been marooned on a planet somewhere in the Terminus Systems until the crew fixed it enough to be space-worthy again. They were able to get a distress beacon off and were picked up by the Alliance days after. Victus smiled when he read the part that his favorite adviser and newfound friend, Garrus Vakarian, was battered, but very much alive and would be on a shuttle to Palaven once he'd received medical attention.  
  
He immediately looked up records for Garrus' father and fired a message to the senior Vakarian, whom he knew had recently come into port off a refugee vessel just five days prior along with his daughter, Solana.  
  
After he sent the message, his mind began to work. The Vakarians are a well-respected family on Palaven and not merely because their clan founded the capital city. Castis Vakarian was a highly decorated soldier in the turian military and had gone on to be just as successful in his career at C-Sec. Solana was a gifted engineer and was set for a promising career in that field had she not put it on hold to care for her sick mother in her final days. Garrus spoke very little of that.  
  
Perhaps he could meet with the family. Talk to them about adding their efforts to rebuilding Palaven. Castis might be convinced to come out of retirement and set up a law enforcement unit. Trella Mardex was smart, but lacked the years of experience in her field to be as truly effective as possible. Through no fault of her own, of course. She was simply the next best qualified after the thousands before her had been killed. Some day, in the future, she'd have been more prepared for the position but as it stands, she would benefit greatly from the counsel of the senior Vakarian. As a bonus, Castis Vakarian sat second in line from the position of Primarch. This was unsurprising due to the man's long list of accomplishments that had elevated his name up the chain even before the war had shortened it. Victus would have to look and see who was first, but the idea had potential. Should something happen to him, Castis would already be involved with government affairs and, if he didn't take over, he would at least be at hand for the turian that would.  
  
Solana was bright and talented in her field. Her grades and accomplishments far out-merited that of Vina Hilso's. Victus had to wonder, if she had not dropped out of her field, would she have been named Adviser of Technology over Vina? He could see the benefits from having her expertise close at hand. He would find her a position as well.  
  
That left Garrus.  
  
His fingers froze on the keyboard as Garrus Vakarian's file came up. As a high-ranking member of the Hierarchy, let alone being the top of it, he had access to top secret information including, but not limited to turian ranking in the Hierarchy. He had just used that benefit to see that Castis was second in line for his position. Now it was being used to see that Garrus Vakarian was not only high on the list, as he expected, but _next_.

Victus opened the background notes and began to read. Garrus' military career was impressive, as Victus already knew, but he had more than a few black marks from his time in C-sec and then there was a whole year of no activity at all. What really bumped Garrus was his work during his years with Commander Shepard.

“ _Garrus Vakarian displayed immense accountability for his race when he joined up with the first human Spectre, to hunt down rogue turian Spectre, Saren Arterius in 2183.”_ _T_ henotes of someone likely now dead had read. “ _Just two years later, in 2185, he again represented the turian race as the forefront to the galaxy's protection when he became the first turian to go through the Omega Four relay and return, in order to stop the Collectors_ _and their abductions, as well as gain valuable intel on the Reapers. This intel would later be turned over to the Hierarchy and would be instrumental in Palaven's preparation for the Reaper invasion.”_

Victus tried not to let it rankle him that the text was written in a way that implied the Hierarchy was on the young man's side from the start. He knew they weren't. He certainly wasn't.  
  
 _“He was at the head of the vital Reaper task force and was stationed on the front lines on Menae. He would then be the one to personally take it upon himself to promote the then general, Adrien Victus, to the position of Primarch after the death of Costus Fedorian.”_  
  
Victus paused to think on that day. He remembered Garrus approaching him, Commander Shepard at his side and saying, _“Fedorian was killed. You're the new Primarch.”_

It was a field promotion, at best, and it wasn't truly Vakarian's decision. But he was technically an adviser at the time, which gave him authority over the generals –even Victus- and, knowingly or not, had used that authority to name him Primarch. That definitely would have boosted him through the ranks. Not high enough during normal circumstances, surely, but at the time with everything going to hell, the circumstances were anything but normal.  
  
He continued reading.  
  
 _“By 2186, Garrus Vakarian has likely become the most recognizable and respected turian among the other races. Vakarian would then go on to serve dual roles as Personal Adviser During Time of War (PADTW) to Primarch Adrien Victus as well as confidant_ _to the woman who was at the head of the battle against the Reapers from the start, Commander Shepard.”_  
  
Call it a brief moment of insanity elicited by the shock his mind was in at this current development, but he had to resist the urge to edit the note and type, _“-and he was fucking her too,”_ if only to disrupt the formality of the message. He didn't type that, of course... but he thought it.

“ _It is due to the tremendous responsibilities placed on Vakarian during the last five years, in which he never balked from,_ _and the exceptional judgment he has displayed throughout, that the Hierarchy currently names him next in line to the Primarch Tier until further notice.”_

_'Isn't that interesting?'_ Victus thought to himself as he reclined in his chair and his mind went to work.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It had been one week and two days since he'd received Hackett's message. He found himself seated at a bench at Cipritine docking bay. The building still lacked the walls and ceiling that it had before, but much of the rubble had been cleared and reconstruction had been scheduled to begin two months from now.  
  
He had dressed casually today, forgoing his Primarch pin and formal uniform for a navy blue tunic complete with a hood so that he can maintain a fairly low profile. Unlike other races, it is not in the nature of turians to have huge hero welcomes when soldiers arrive home from simply performing their duties. Their praise and encouragement come in the form of promotions and positive marks on their file. Garrus would not expect fanfare on his arrival,so Victus waited at the port, not as the Primarch of Palaven welcoming a hero home, but as a simple man waiting to see his friend again.

Spirits knew how nice it will be to have a friendly face to talk to.

He had spotted the Vakarian family patiently waiting by what _was_ dock 26. It was probably closer to dock 3 or 4 these days since most of the other docks were gone now. Victus considered approaching them, but thought better of it. Today was about them and their family. They did not need the Primarch making his presence known just yet so he decided to stand at a distance and observe. He needed to see how Vakarian looked before he made him and his family any offers. He could do that from where he currently stood. He wouldn't need to get involved.

It was about twenty minutes later when the shuttle came gliding into view and landed softly on the ground. The hatch hissed and lifted upwards. Slowly, a mixture of refugees as well as soldiers came trickling out. Victus observed each one that emerged from the shuttle, knowing that spotting Vakarian should not be too hard. Finally, an aged, haggard looking turian emerged last of all and made his way slowly, with a limp in his stride, down the ramp. Victus' brain had to reboot as he stared at the man's face. The markings were correct, along with the scarring, but how could that man be _Garrus_?

Gone was the swagger and high head Victus had become familiar with. This man slouched under a great, invisible weight on his back. His civvies hung loosely on an unnaturally thin frame and the hide between the dull and cracking plates was pale and sickly. Victus glanced at the family that waited for this beaten turian. Judging by the way they just stood and watched, they were just as shocked. Solana and Castis stared at the turian, and the turian had halted his descent down the ramp to stare back.

Suddenly, the trance had broken as Solana bolted towards her brother, ignoring the pain she must have felt on what Victus could see was an injured and still-healing leg. Garrus dropped his bag and reached for his sister's shoulder as she reached to do the same. Their brows met and all was still. He was standing too far away to truly hear their sub-harmonics, but a small vibration of both grief and relief had managed to reach him from the two siblings. He watched as brother and sister held each other, both standing with their weight shifted on a good leg while cocking a weak and injured one. It was almost comical the way their injuries complimented each other. Garrus' damaged right to Solana's impaired left.

Finally, Castis moved up the ramp toward his children. Garrus lifted his brow from his sister's and turned his gaze toward his approaching father. Victus knew of the strained relationship the two had, but from what he understood, they had more or less patched things up between them just prior to the war. He could only imagine what was going through their minds. Who would make the first move?

It was Castis and he didn't even hesitate as he immediately stooped to lift his son's fallen bag and swung it over his own shoulder. Then, he snapped the most respectful salute a turian could muster and held it for several long seconds as Garrus watched him with evident shock on his face. When Castis ended the salute, he reached for his son's shoulder, tugged him forward and pressed his brow against his. It took Garrus a full second to realize what had happened, but when he did, he raised his own arm to grip his father's shoulder in return and closed his eyes.

As far as Victus' bench was, it was apparently not far enough to escape the vibrations of the elder, and normally extremely reserved, Vakarian's sub-harmonics. They slammed into Victus and left him paralyzed at their meaning. They sung of a mourning father's relief at seeing his son again after having convinced himself that he was dead. They were the same ones that Victus knew he himself would sing if he saw Tarquin hobble off that shuttle.

He had to look away from the scene as a lump formed in his throat. He rose from the bench and turned to leave, deciding to contact the family at a later date. For now, he would leave them undisturbed in their private celebration at having found each other again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the Game of Thrones line. It just felt too perfect to leave out.


	6. Chapter 6

Victus waited three days after Garrus' arrival to make contact with the Vakarians and was pleased to hear them accept his proposal for a meeting. He chose one of the few restaurants in Cipritine that had managed to return to business as -mostly- usual since the invasion. Owned by an asari couple, the restaurant, _Capri_ , originally opened centuries ago during a time when asari-turian couples were first becoming more commonplace. The owners saw it as an opportunity to establish themselves in that fairly profitable niche and serve food catered to both species. For that reason, it wasone of Cipritine's oldest restaurants, but while it served turian food, the look and décor were far more asari. Where a turian restaurant focused on practicality, an asari one would shoot for elegance and finery. It was hardly the kind of scene Victus would choose to frequent, but it would serve.

_'At least the seats are comfortable,'_ he thought to himself. He mused at how a seat's comfort level had quickly become one of the first things he'd notice. He told himself it was due to all the months he had to spend on that cursed human chair back on Earth, and definitely not because he was simply getting old and by proxy, becoming more appreciative of the benefits of a comfortable chair.

Alone at his table, he sipped horosk slowly from his glass, savoring the taste as it coated his tongue and sent liquid fire through his throat. He couldn't remember the last time he was able to enjoy a drink like this and thanked the spirits that the asari owners provided turian glasses to their patrons without lips.

He took note of the scenery around him. People were slowly getting back to their lives as they strived for what little normalcy they could. The news media, while never completely dying out, was in full swing again, mainly covering topics about the war and occasionally himself, but also about the statuses of the relays. The Trebia relay had been successfully linked to three other systems, which in turn, sent engineers and scientists to those relays. It would only be a matter of time until the races of this cycle officially retook the galaxy in a way no other cycle had before.

“Comfy chairs? Iced liquor in a fancy glass?” Victus smiled at the familiar voice before looking up from his glass to see Garrus approaching him. His father and sister followed closely behind. “You're a long way from _'get that thing the hell off my men,'_ Primarch. Not getting soft, are we?”  
  
Victus inclined his head at the younger man as he took his seat beside him. Solana and Castis took the two seats directly across.  
  
“I assure you, it's not entirely by choice,” Victus responded with a smile.  
  
Garrus _hmm'd_ and quipped, “So only partly then.”  
  
An asari server noticed the newcomers to the table and hurried over to get their drink orders. When she left again, Victus said, “You could do with a little R and R yourself, Vakarian. You looked half dead when you got off that shuttle.”  
  
He looked slightly better now. Still not entirely like the old Garrus he'd come to know, but at the very least he looked slightly healthier. He put a little weight back on his frame and his injured leg dragged a little less. Victus made amental note to ask him about that injury later.  
  
“Well, as I've recently learned, getting marooned on a hostile levo-based planet tends to have that effect on a turian. Wait, you watched me get off the shuttle? Huh. Didn't peg you for a voyeur, Victus.”  
  
From across the table, Solana gaped at her brother and Castis trilled a sharp warning at his son with his sub-harmonics. The combination of the two was what made Victus bark with laughter and he used his own sub-vocals to truly express his amusement in a way that would assure the senior Vakarian that his son's words had not offended.

Victus and Castis had known each other for years. Admittedly, they rarely stood on common ground, which kept them as merely acquaintances to one another and never truly friends. As a young man, Castis had been so different from his son that, if not for the blue tattoos and the fact that they looked so similar, Victus would never have believed that Garrus was Castis'.

Solana clearly took after her mother more in her appearance than her father, as Garrus did. Her plating shown with a dull bronze sheen in opposition to the silver plates of her brother and father. Instead of the blue eyes Garrus shared with his father, her eyes were amber in color, similar to his own. She did, however, share the same light tawny colored hide as her father and brother, contrary to the darker brown hide that her mother had.  
  
“It's a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Solana said, but her vocals reverberated caution. Even a bit of suspicion. Her amber eyes regarded him warily.

“The pleasure is mine,” Victus responded, keeping his mandibles loose to express his ease. “I appreciate you all taking the time to meet with me.”  
  
“Of course, Primarch,” Castis spoke with a voice as dutiful as ever. His sub-harmonics reverberated respect, but also his eagerness to get down to the business at hand.  
  
Victus took a slow sip from his glass before he began.

“I understand that you've all been home only for a short time, but I'm sure you've noticed the state of our planet. We're doing all we can to make repairs as quickly as possible, but we need every able-bodied turian to do it.” While he spoke, the asari waitress had returned, balancing a tray of new drinks. Victus didn't miss that only one, other than his own, was alcoholic. A glass of water was placed in front of Castis before the waitress moved on to place a glass of red, non-alcoholic fruit juice in front of Solana. Turian brandy was placed in front of Garrus.

Victus turned to look at Garrus, and found him distracted by something up and away from the table, ignoring his drink. Before he could make any more observations as to what had the young man so distracted, Castis cleared his throat, effectively bringing Garrus' attention back to the table and then immediately on to his drink. That was the moment Victus realized that the initial tit-for-tat at the beginning of this conversation had been an act.  
  
“As I was saying,” Victus continued when the waitress bustled off, but he kept his gaze on the younger Vakarian a few more seconds before he turned his attention to Castis. “The Hierarchy is doing all we can to get our economy going again, but it's a shadow of what it once was. You all don't need me to tell you of the death toll to our people, but I will say the higher-ups were not excluded from that toll. The advisers currently available to me are only so qualified in comparison to their late predecessors.” He took another sip from his glass, and allowed just a small trickle of his irritation to slip into his speech as he continued. “And, as we argue over what proper measures to take in order to achieve our goals, there is still crime happening. People are hungry, desperate, and more are coming in every day to find that everything they left behind is gone. Of course, some have taken to preying on the weakened and injured in the absence of order. Trella Mardex is my adviser on such matters and while she _is_ capable, her experience pales in comparison to yours, Castis. I've asked you here, specifically, to humbly request that you come out of retirement and assist in rebuilding our law-enforcement.”  
  
Solana made a sound that gave the impression that Victus had just confirmed a suspicion of hers. She turned her head to stare at her father, but Castis' eyes were locked on Victus'. Blue meeting amber. Victus held his gaze, refusing to look away as the silence grew between them.

Garrus was looking away from the table again.

“Dad,” Solana finally broke the silence. Her voice was imploring as she said, “You don't need to. After everything you've been through for mom, for the refugees, for me, for Garrus. You've served so much already....” Victus felt her amber stare now shift onto him, but he would not meet it as his eyes remained locked on Castis'.  
  
“Garrus!” Solana turned her attention to her unusually silent brother, pleading for backup. The sound of his name brought his eyes back to the conversation, but he said nothing.

“Palaven hasn't had a true police force since the Unification Wars,” Castis pointed out. It was a fact of course the veteran cop would know. Victus knew this as well. The militaristic lifestyle on Palaven made a separate police force obsolete. While petty crime on Palaven did occur before the war, it was fairly rare in comparison to other races and it was handled by the military. Unfortunately, that was during a time when the turian military _had_ the numbers and resources available to see to those duties.

“True,” Victus acknowledged with a nod. “Which is why it will be a temporary position. Just until our military has recovered numbers adequate enough to coalescence those duties. Until then, you will be expected to train your own force. The best of which -and that verdict will be yours- will be promoted to officers in the rebuilt military to then, themselves, train the next generation.”

Victus paused to recline in his chair and take another sip from his glass.  
  
“I'm sure you can imagine exactly what kind of youths will make up the next generation of our military after all this. Orphans, most of which likely witnessed the horrific deaths of their families. Many will lack guidance in their adolescence, and that lack of discipline will only serve to weaken us in the future. I'm hoping to take care of that early on- thank you,” Victus quickly added at the end to the returning waitress, balancing a tray supporting an array of rather delicious-looking food.

For the first time since their conversation began, Castis finally removed his gaze from Victus in order to mumble his thanks to the waitress. When the waitress retreated, Castis leaned back in his seat with his arms folded over his chest, looking the epitome of authority and said, “Anunorthodox method. Highly expectant from what I know of you, Victus.”  
  
Victus smiled at the lack of title.  
  
“To sum it all up, Vakarian, hard-asses like you are needed now more than ever and you're the hard-ass I trust the most to get it done. Will you do it?”

Another long silence fell on the table again. The way Castis stared gave Victus the distinct feeling that he was being sized up. It reminded him, with a small amount of humor, of being a young recruit during his days at basic, lining up for inspection. It only served to confirm Victus' decision more. If this man is able to instill that feeling in the Primarch of Palaven, then he can instill that in anyone.

“I accept,” Castis finally said with a nod of his head.  
  
Solana's sub-vocals vibrated sadly as she looked at her father and said, “Dad... you-” but she stopped when Castis turned and met his daughter's gaze. There was clearly a quiet understanding between father and daughter. They shared a look that carried with it a mutual comprehension that needed no words to voice. When their gazes drifted apart, not another word was spoken between them on the subject.

Before anything more was said, the four of them turned their attention to the meals in front of them. Victus had to withhold a moan that he knew would sound obscene when he brought the first bite of juicy meat to his mouth. Since returning from Earth, Adrien had yet to indulge in a sumptuous repast like this. It's strange because, when he and his men had to ration out nutro-bars and paste, a meal like this was what he couldn't wait to get back to.

As he moved to take a second bite from his roast, he began to understand that he had actually been _avoiding_ eating a meal like this. He'd been avoiding it because he realized, deep down, it would elicit thoughts of Tarquin. Adrien could almost hear him critiquing the roast and commenting on what he would have done different. Victus felt the smile slide off his face before he could stop it. He stared at the meat on his plate like it had suddenly turned into an unwanted Hierarchy report and gently nudged it away from him.  
  
“Your father is not the only one I wished to speak to today, Solana,” Victus said in his attempt to push away memories of bar stools and laughter and charred food. He looked up to meet the narrowed and, frankly, unimpressed gaze of the female turian across from him. “Your record is exemplary. The Hierarchy needs people like you at the top. Your highly advanced knowledge of tech would be very useful.”  
  
He paused to give her a chance to respond, but she said nothing. Her face remained unchanged, stuck in a scrutinizing glare as she regarded him coldly.

“With the mass relays on track for repairs, communication outside Palaven will get easier. I have a position available in my office to make sure my private communication hub remains fully functional at all times.”  
  
“You want me to be a glorified I.T worker?” she quipped.

“Hardly,” he responded with a chuckle. “Unfortunately, with increasing ease of communication comes the increasing risk of espionage. Information is power, and unknown surveillance is among the best way to gain such power. There are those who will wish to take advantage of our weakened state-” he thought of Irissa and the Dalatrass “-and a very simple way of achieving that is by installing a worm into our systems while it is open for a seemingly innocent hologram communication.”  
  
He took another sip from his drink. “Having said that, there will be times when I can see... returning the favor from time to time beneficial for us. From what I've read from your files, you would know all about that, wouldn't you? They don't consider someone a candidate for Black Watch training unless they can hack into deeply encrypted systems.” He watched her expression change at the mention of her file. Her mandibles pinched slightly to her jaw and she straightened in her seat.  
  
“You turned down the training to take care of your mother, I understand,” Victus pointed out.  
  
“And I'd make the same decision again, if I had to,” she said.  
  
“Which is exactly why I want you for this position- No I can't say I've ever been a fan of biotic-ball, but I'm glad to hear entertainment isn't completely dead giving the circumstances. It's what we all need.” Victus quickly pivoted his topic when he heard the approaching footsteps of their waitress. She checked in with their meals, refilled their glasses and bustled off again.  
  
“Some might say you're a prodigy, Solana, but you don't let any of that go to your head. You put family first. Even ahead of your own future. You've done your duty. Allow me to extend a second chance- a better opportunity.”  
  
Solana was quiet for several seconds. She met Victus' gaze with her own unreadable one. Several heartbeats later and she flicked a mandible into a smile, causing a sense of satisfaction to well within himself. He had her.  
  
“I'll think about it. But no promises.”

Maybe he didn't.

“I see. It's a big decision, of course,” he acknowledged politely.  
  
“On that note, Primarch, you aren't the only one doing your research on people,” she countered, rather boldly, with a tone implying she knew something he didn't. Castis' eyes flickered between the Primarch and his daughter. Even Garrus made an effort to take his eyes off whatever had been holding his attention all this time to settle onto the conversation at hand.

“The word in town is that you're a very popular choice to step in as the new turian councilor.”

Sparatus, and the other councilors, had finally officially been pronounced dead aboard the dilapidated Citadel three days ago. Unsurprisingly, the news media ran with the story, leading to mixed reactions among the races. Some individuals mourned, while others had more pressing issues to worry about. Some were already calling for who would step in as the new councilors and others were calling for a complete reform of the system. Some, Victus knew, were calling for him, but those who did were primarily military, which would render their voices as biased opinion because of Victus' prominent military background. As a result, they would hold very little weight in the actual decision.  
  
“I might have heard that rumor,” he replied with a shrug.  
  
“I think it's more than rumor, don't you?” She pressed.  
  
“No. It's a rumor based on nothing more than looking to the next most familiar turian to fill the part,” he reasoned. “My face has been in the news a lot lately.”  
  
“You mean _influential_ ,” she countered.

“I mean _familiar_. There are far more influential and, candidly, better Primarchs than myself on other colony worlds. Primarchs that have been _groomed_ for politics, like Councilor Sparatus was. They hold far more sway than what I possess.”  
  
Solana parried with, “They weren't the ones that united the turians with the humans against the Reapers.”

“No. That was your brother.”

Now all eyes were on Garrus, whom reacted by raising his hands in a supplicatory gesture.  
  
“That credit belongs to Shepard. I was just along for the ride,” Garrus admonished.  
  
“You're being modest,” Victus pointed out. “If it wasn't for you and your father going to Fedorian we-”

“Trust me on this, Primarch, I'm not known for my modesty. I'm being honest. _Shepard_ united the turians. Not me.” He said this with sub-harmonics that hummed his irritation. He took a large gulp from his glass before tucking into his steak, giving off the impression that he had no further interest in the conversation.

“Regardless of how you feel about it,” Victus pushed on. “That isn't how the Hierarchy sees it. Your part in this war has merited you quite the commendation on your citizen file.”  
  
Garrus _hummed_ as he raised his glass to his mouth once more. Before he took another long sip, he muttered with a bitter voice, “If that's how they feel, I'll take a shiny sticker to put on my gun. I'll treasure it always.”  
  
“They want to do more than that, which is why they listed you next in line to be Primarch after myself.”

In the span of a second, Garrus' eyes widened with shock and he seemed to forget he was currently in the act of drinking a liquid because he tried to say something mid-gulp. It sounded something akin to ' _what_?' but it was washed away in a sudden coughing fit. The swill of his cup dribbled uncontrollably through his teeth and between his mandibles, creating splatters of liquor on the table. Castis raised a hand over his eyes at his son's lack of decorum and Solana just stared at her brother with wide eyes. The scene was almost comical if not for the horror in Garrus' eyes once he managed to contain his cough and looked at Victus.  
  
“They're out of their minds!” Garrus snapped.  
  
“Garrus.” Castis warned.  
  
“They're also dead,” Victus informed.  
  
“So it doesn't matter?” Garrus demanded more than questioned.  
  
“It still matters,” Victus replied.  
  
“They're out of their minds!” He repeated.  
  
“You can always abdicate when the time comes,” Victus reminded him.  
  
“Then I abdicate now. This is crazy. How am I next in line over anyone else? How is my position even remotely possible above my father's?”  
  
“It's above your father's, but only just so.” Victus turned his eyes onto Castis and said, “You are currently listed second in line.”  
  
“This doesn't make any sense. How is that possible?” Garrus demanded, the lines of his posture screamed his apprehension.

“It would appear that you impressed the Hierarchy with the massive amount of initiative and strategic forethought you've shown during this war and the years leading up to it. Not only did you track down a rogue Spectre, which is a feat on its own, but _Saren Arterius_. That was how you initially learned of the Reapers, correct?” He could tell Garrus wanted to interrupt, so Victus pushed on before he could.

“I understand you even took the final kill shot. Then you went on to become the first turian to go through the Omega 4 relay and live to tell about it and you did it in order to complete a crucial suicide mission. You obtained and retrieved invaluable intel on the enemy from the Collector Base and I daresaythat intelis the reason we're alive today.”

Adrien turned in his seat to fully regard the younger turian. “Against all odds, you got the Hierarchy to mobilize and prepare for the greatest threat our civilization has ever faced. You could have run, Garrus, but you didn't. You spent nearly three years preparing for a war no one else believed was coming and then made sure your people were prepared when it did. That takes amazing forethought and compassion for your people; both essential traits in a Primarch. Your father's military and law enforcement records are impressive, but-”

“Not impressive enough to top that.” It was Castis that acknowledged the statement as he regarded his son pensively.

“And I have reason to believe that I only just scratched the surface of what you've done.”

Garrus switched back and forth between gaping at Victus and his father. It did not go unnoticed that the longer Victus spoke, the more rigid Garrus went. Clearly, in Garrus' opinion, this news was not what he would consider the welcomed kind.  
  
“If you're finished, there's a few things wrong with your monologue, Primarch, that I'd like to point out. Let'sstart with the fact that everything you just said aren't my deeds at all. They're Shepard's. I did shoot Saren, but only after he shot himself. Believe it or not, Shepard convinced him to. My gunshot was just a confirmation of his death- a double tap, if you'll excuse the human phrase.” Vakarian's hand tightened on his glass, like he meant to drink from it, but then remembered how the last of its contents had splattered all over the table and his lap. He grabbed a napkin instead and began to dab away the mess he made. The way he wiped away the liquor gave the distinct impression that he was imagining the brown liquid splatters to be the words Victus had just spoke; erasing them and pretending they were never there.  
  
“We're alive today because of _her_. I was just along for the ride.” He finished dabbing away at the biggest puddle of liquor and raised his eyes off the table once more.  
  
“ _'Along for the ride,'_ he says. As if he didn't claw tooth and talon to find a solution for this war when not even the Council would listen. As if he didn't possibly make one of the best judge-of-character calls in history for one human woman to become arguably the greatest military figure in the galaxy even when no one else saw it. Even the Alliance was willing to cast her aside, but not you. You stuck with her and got the job done and the Hierarchy benefited from that like never before.”

“So you're telling me that I'm named next in line because of my choice to _abandon_ my post and gallivant off with a disgraced Spectre?And a human one, at that?” Garrus asked, subharmonics dripping with acid. “Huh. I think we need to rethink our culture's priorities on what constitutes a good leader, don't you?”  
  
“Well,the fact that the thousands of turians ahead of you that were, let's face it, more qualified were killed off might have helped to boost you up in the ranks.”  
  
“You mean the ranks came crashing down on me?” It wasn't a question.  
  
Victus shrugged. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”  
  
“So what you're saying is that because of my work with Shepard, the Hierarchy in all their wisdom, saw me as the best they had left.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Well I hate to break it to you, _sir_ , but they're wrong. _Again_. I'm not their best choice because I abdicate in favor of the far more qualified second-in-line,”he inclined his head toward his father across the table.  
  
Castis, whom sat with his elbows resting on the glossy table surface, elevating his hands with his fingers laced together, watched his son with a steady gaze. Whatever was going through his mind, Victus couldn't be sure, but Castis chose not to comment.

“You _are_ the best we have because I do not accept your abdication.”  
  
Garrus rounded on Victus, sharp teeth gleaming in a threatening display. “You don't accept- I have that _right,_ ” he growled.  
  
“Of course you do. When the time comes, that is. You need to learn about your new potential field first as you would with any other one. I want your decision to be an informed one when or if you abdicate. That is the way the Hierarchy works, in all its wisdom,” Victus finished with a wry smile he knew didn't reach his eyes after mimicking Garrus' own words.  
  
Garrus was quiet for a moment as he eyed Victus angrily. Then he opened his mouth, undoubtedly to respond with where, exactly, he thought Victus could shove the Hierarchy's ways, but suddenly stopped short. Froze really, when a familiar voice reverberated in the air. It was a voice recording from a shoddily programmed VI, but the voice it was trying to replicate was unmistakable.  
  
“I'm Commander Shepard and this is my favorite - _bzzzzz'd_ \- restaurant on the- _bzzzzd_ \- Palaven.”  
  
Garrus' eyes glassed over, becoming a thousand-yardstare as he gazed across the restaurant at the glowing hologram of his late commander as she flickered in and out of existence. His eyes were wide with horror, and... anger. His sub-harmonics hummed with the unmistakable sound of betrayal.  
  
“Bzzzzed- eat up soldier! You'll need your -bzzzzzzed- stren- bzzzzzd,” it said in a voice far too upbeat and giddy to belong to the Commander Shepard that Victus met.  
  
_“-as the late Commander Shepard ran head on into the Reaper beam.”_ It took Victus far too long to realize exactly what the news station was talking about. It wouldn't be until later that Victus would mentally berate himself for not paying the staff off to makes sure no news stations would play on their screens. Of course the news would be talking about Commander Shepard: Hero of the Galaxy.

Had it been on this whole time?

Was that what kept distracting Garrus?

“Garrus,” it was the low warning in Solana's voice that pulled Victus' gaze off the screen and onto the said turian whom had grown unnaturally still.  
  
_“Commander Shepard was last seen bravely racing across the battlefield with two of her companions. One Dr. Liara T'soni and Reaper Adviser to the Hierarchy, Garrus Vakarian. During the chaos, Commander Shepard made a highly unusual and risky decision by calling for an evac when her comrades were hit and gravely injured,”_ said the asari reporter, her face perfectly trained to depict the all too well-practiced expressions she knew her viewers wanted to see. _"Here we have newly released footage of the great Commander's final moments. This footage may be considered disturbing to some viewers. Viewer discretion advised."_  
  
To Victus' horror, they began to play grainy video footage of that night. The footage was clearly taken from a moving platform, a drone probably, zipping high above the battlefield. It's operator clearly did their best to keep Shepard in sight as shown by the way the footage would zoom in on her every chance it got.  
  
“We need to turn this off. Now.” Victus moved to get up, but Solana beat him to it as she rose from her seat and hurried off to find someone.  
  
Garrus had yet to move an inch and his eyes remained glued on the screen. Only his breathing changed as it grew ragged and heavy the longer the footage played.  
  
On the screen, a Mako had just been sent screaming through the air before coming down hard on Garrus' leg despite his best effort to dive out of the way. Shepard raced to him, the red tresses of her hair flying behind her, having lost her already beaten helmet during the blast that sent the said Makoflying. Victus watched as she grabbed Garrus and hoisted him to his feet, supporting his much larger frame with her own smaller one the best she could. He watched as she desperately dragged him behind cover, bullets whipping past them and as the giant Reaper behind them growled that awful sound that still plagues his sleep at night, Victus just managed to hear her say, _“Normandy,_ _do you copy?”_  
  
Victus didn't need sub-harmonics to hear the fear in her voice. Clearly, neither did the present-dayGarrus beside him as Shepard's voice elicited a sound from him that made Victus' blood run cold.

“ _I need an evac right now!”_ She shouted, her voice raw with the kind of emotion he felt embarrassed to admit not knowing she was capable of. Despite the shaky footage, he saw her small, five-fingered hands immediately move to Garrus' injured leg, gingerly probing and inspecting the damage. She then tore her eyes off his leg and searched the turian's face, asking him a question, which he responded to with a nod. When the camera panned up to show the _Normandy_ soar into view on the screen, present-day Garrus began to shake.  
  
Victus shifted his attention from the screen and returned it to Garrus. He observed blue eyes staring out unseeingly into open space. His body shook even harder than before and his mandibles pinched tight to his jaw with stress. These were signs Victus had seen many times before in other turian soldiers and even in himself. Castis must have recognized the signs too because he quickly rose from his seat and was at his son's side in an instant.

“Easy, Garrus. Not here. Don't give them any reaction. It's what the media wants. It's what they're waiting for.” Castis said lowly. Garrus must have heard his father's voice in some way because he gave a slow nod.

“It's all right.You're safe on Palaven. You're home. Just breathe,” instructed the senior Vakarian and Garrus did. He breathed in and out slowly.

_“Here. Take him,”_ Commander Shepard said.

And Garrus stopped breathing.

The screen suddenly exploded against the wall. Shards of broken glass and plastic flew in all directions as diners and staff dived for cover if they were close or whipped around in their chairs if they were far. Victus made an effort to holster his gun in the most nonchalant way anyone could manage after just shooting out a screen in a public place.

Having caught on to Victus' line of thinking, Castis gently, yet firmly pulled Garrus from his seat and hurried for the side door of the building while attention was away from him. As Victus sipped from his glass, doing his best not to draw attention to their table while Castis and Garrus made their escape, the restaurant erupted around him. He knew it would only be a matter of time before someone checked the video footage of the incident and saw where the bullet had come from.

_'Then I'll have to conduct the kind of damage control that only a sleazy politician with too much power can handle,'_ he thought to himself with no small amount of resentment at what he knew he was turning into.

 

* * *

 

The Primarch remained seated at the table and only decided to get up when exactly eleven minutes ticked by. He kept track by periodically checking the time with his omni-tool. Waiting not only served to warn off any unwanted interest in his table, but it also had the benefit of allowing him to finish his drink. He was never one to leave a glass empty, after all. When he was satisfied with both the -' _rather surprising'-_ lack of suspicion and the emptiness of his glass, he left a credit chit on the table to pay for the forgotten meals and rose from his seat to follow the Vakarian's out the exit they'd retreated though.

The exit opened up into a dank side ally that ran alongside the building.

For all their civility and intelligence, turians, as a race, were far more connected with their baser instincts than every other race, bar krogans. It's because of this that Adrein would know the scene he was about to intrude upon without having to actually look at it. He knew because the second he pushed the door open, he was accosted by loud, yet strangely soothing vibrations emitting from the sub-vocals of the elder Vakarian. He would recognize that thrum even from the depths of his drunkest stupor. The thrum was ingrained in the DNA of any turian. It's the same one he, and every other turian parent for that matter, would naturally feel inclined to emit in order to sooth a highly distressed child. It was pure and simple instinct, so ingrained that Castis could only be half-aware that he was doing it. Victus knew from experience that it was something nearly impossible to suppress.  
  
The sound of it swept him into a memory.

_He remembered the warm temperature of an engine room, located on the frigate dubbed_ Tarquin _, somewhere on the outskirts of Hierarchy space. He recalled the tranquil hum of a drivecore in the background, and the frightened chirping of a newborn fledgling as he was pulled from his mother. After removing the embryonic sack, Adrien couldn't help but stare in absolute awe of the tiny, fragile fledgling in his hands, watching him take his first breaths. As the seconds ticked by, the tiny turian slowly quieted and began to watch him back. He looked into the inquisitive green eyes of his newborn son, now no longer afraid and acting on instinct by reaching for the protection of his father's cowl._  
  
_Adrien knew he would master the motion in time, but he felt clumsy the first time he lifted his newborn to his cowl. He marveled at the way he was able to easily latch on to the rim with his deceivingly powerful grip and settled in against his father's neck._

_A happy trill redirected Adrien's attention to the woman that lay_ _on the cold metal floor after her quick and rather unexpected labor._  
  
_“You're humming,” Magrim told him with an exhausted, breathy laugh._  
  
_“So are you,” his younger self pointed out. “So much for lacking a maternal instinct.”_  
  
_“Shut up. You should hear yourself. You're louder than the drivecore.” She smiled sleepily. “Big softy.”_  
  
_“Are you alright?” he asked._  
  
_“Never better,” she said as she looked at Adrien in a way he'd never experienced from her before. He remembered the way his heart jumped in his chest when he locked eyes with her._

_“I'm so proud of you,” he admitted. She smiled._  
  
_“You weren't bad yourself, doctor.”_  
  
_Victus snorted. “Truth be told? I have never been more frightened in my entire life.”_

_“Hey, how do you think I felt? My doctor was a man who's only experience delivering young came from a grainy extranet video he watched months ago!”_

_Adrien chuckled at her remark, which caused his new son to respond by curling closer to the comforting vibrations. Experimentally, Adrien dipped his head to run his mandible gently across the newborns soft, feathery down and was rewarded with a content purr._  
  
_“Look at that. He's asleep already. I think you're going to make a wonderful father, Adrien.”_

_Spirits, he hoped so. He could feel the heartbeat thumping away within the tiny, still-damp feathered body against his skin. The feeling provided him with his own sense of comfort and suddenly, that heartbeat became the most important thing in the world to him. He knew, without a doubt, that he would protect this infant with his life no matter what came at him._

_“Do you want to name him?” He remembered the question catching him off guard._  
  
_“I thought you wanted to name him after your father.”_  
  
_“It's okay, Private. I'll get the next one.”_  
  
_The fledgling wasn't due for another two weeks, at least, but Magrim's expertise were sorely needed on this mission. So she opted to go anyway, despite being heavily pregnant, provided her bondmate was given station on the frigate as well. The frigate they were aboard, much like the turian she was named for, had seen many battles in her day, but what made her special to Adrien and Mags was that the ship was also the first one they'd served on together almost ten years ago. It was the ship they first discovered just how well they worked together as a team; Just how in sync they were. So it was only fitting that their first child be born on this ship as well, though that was unplanned._  
  
_Adrien settled himself on the metal floor beside his bondmate. He took a moment to lean down and brush his brow against hers, breathing in her scent. Spirits, she was beautiful. And as the two gazed upon the snoozing fledgling, he knew what he would call their first son._  
  
_“Tarquin.”_

The Primarch blinked the memory away.  
  
Amidst the scrap and ruin of the dirty ally, he saw father and son crouched on the ground. Garrus was huddled, looking utterly defeated and vulnerable, with his back against the wall. His hands clenched and released and his eyes shifted in and out of focus as he fought for his sanity against the demons that plagued his mind. Crouched before him with his back barricading his son from the view of the gloomy, offensive world like a protective sentinel was Castis. His brow was pressed to Garrus' and his right hand gripped tightly to his son's right shoulder like an anchor tethering a ship to the harbor. He said nothing and allowed that instinctual hum to guide his son from whatever nightmare his mind had trapped him in.  
  
In that moment, Victus had to wonder whether or not Castis possessed an immunity he didn't, or if he too was currently remembering a tiny, down-covered fledgling, crying out for the protection of his father.

Whatever Victus had planned to say had vanished from his mind in an instant. He knew that what he was witnessing was something deeply personal. Before him was a father discovering just how deeply the claws of a horrific war had sunk into the man that had once been _his_ newborn fledgling, covered in white down. He now had to watch those claws shred his son apart from the inside and he was absolutely powerless to stop it. This was Garrus' fight. Castis could guide him, soothe him, but nothing more.

The sight elicited a second emotion inside Adrien. Along with sympathy, and it twisted his gut with shame to admit to himself, was envy. Envy at the fact that Castis still, at the very least, _had_ his children. Tarquin had been reduced to ash on a planet light years away. Garrus was battered and broken both mentally and physically, but at least he was home... _alive_. Adrien allowed himself to imagine his own son, also battered and broken, but alive. What he wouldn't _give_ to be able to hold him and help him through his pain and struggles the way Castis still could. It was the envy that prevented his feet from carrying him away from the scene the way he knew they should.

“Dad?” Victus heard Garrus mumble.  
  
“That's it, son,” Castis encouraged him. “Can you tell me where you are? What do you see?”

“Mercs.” Garrus whispered. It was only his unrestrained sub-harmonics that carried the word across the distance to Victus. “Don't worry though. Just a little target practice.”

For some reason, that sentence must have struck a nerve inside Castis because his whole body stiffened in response, his face hardening severely. Hesitantly, as if almost afraid, he said, “Then... then call me back later.”  
  
“I don't think I'll be able to do that. Too many targets.”  
  
The normally stoic Castis noticeably winced. His eyes flickered away from his son's face for the first time since Victus walked out the door. He watched as Castis took a moment to burn holes through the pavement with his stare, clearly contemplating his next response. When he looked back up, there was resoluteness in his eyes.  
  
“I see... Is this Garrus I'm talking to... or is it Archangel?”Like a switch was thrown, the glassy hue over Garrus' eyes cleared completely and he finally met his father's eyes.  
  
“Dad I... how long have you...”  
  
“Archangel's name spread far especially when the amount of drug shipments to the Citadel fell to an all-timelow.” If it wasn't Castis thatVictus was looking at, he'd swear that a ghost of a smile appeared on the elder Vakarian's face.

“Naturally, my friends in C-sec would tell me the rumor they heard. That a vigilante group on Omega was the reason behind it. I think I started suspecting it was you during that phone call. It was more or less confirmed when I later hear about how Archangel held off hundreds of mercs on his own for three days around the time you called me out of nowhere. I assume that's how you got this?” Castis gestured to Garrus' damaged mandible with the hand that had been previously holding his shoulder.  
  
“Yeah... but the part I told you about during my last stay? About how I lost a fight with a gunship? That part was true.”

“I... I never learned how Archangel escaped,” Castis admitted.

Garrus flinched at those words and his expression fell as sorrow took hold of him once again. His voice sounded heavy, as if weighed down under the strain of his pain when he replied, “Shepard.”

Now Victus understood. Completely understood. There could be no mistaking the way his subharmonics carried that name. Castis immediately sought Garrus' eyes, indicating his own understanding. He then looked away from Garrus for a heartbeat, like he couldn't meet his son's eyes while he combed his thoughts for something to say.

Adrien had to admit, he couldn't be sure how _he_ would initially react if Tarquin had come to him one day and admit to having bonded with a human.  
  
“It would seem we have a lot to discuss,” was how Castis finally responded.  
  
“Yeah. We do,” Garrus agreed solemnly, nodding his head slowly.  
  
The _whirring_ sound of a skycar's engine reverberated the atmosphere, announcing its imminent landing. Five seconds later, a navy blue vehicle drifted into sight before dropping to a gentle landing on the ground at the mouth of the ally. The passenger door lifted with a hiss as Solana hurriedly climbed out the other side.  
  
“Dad!” she called out, urgency clear in her tone.  
  
“Not here though. Let's get you home first,” Castis said to Garrus before pulling his son's arm around his shoulders and hoisting him off the ground. As he turned toward the skycar, he noticed Victus for the first time.  
  
“Primarch,” he said, sub-harmonics reverberated his surprise.

Just as Victus opened his mouth to apologize for the intrusion, Garrus pulled away from his father and stalked towards him. Now Victus has been on the receiving end of hatred and resentment, sure, but never from Garrus. He looked nothing short of murderous.

“You've got to be kidding me, Sidonis!” He growled, his words dripping with venom.  
  
'Who?' But Victus didn't have long to contemplate that thought because Garrus moved to lunge at him. Well, he clearly meant to. A loud _thwak_ reverberated against the gloomy walls and Garrus buckled and fell. Castis rushed to catch Garrus just in time before his head could hit the ground.  
  
Victus heard Solana gasp sharply as Garrus went limp and she hurried to her father's side, but Adrien had beaten her to it. He moved to Garrus' left side, Castis on the right, and the two older turians lifted the younger one between them. Garrus' toes dragged uselessly along the ground and his head lulled forward as they maneuvered his unconscious form to the vehicle.

Together, they laid Garrus down across the backseat of the car and shut the door, removing him from the view of prying eyes. Just before Solana climbed back in to take up her spot in the driver's seat, she glanced at Victus once before she too disappeared into the car.

Instead of climbing in immediately after her, Castis turned to Victus and said, “I apologize, Primarch. My son is...” he trailed off for a moment, glancing sadly toward the tinted back window of the skycar. “He's sick.”  
  
“Garrus has been through a lot,” said Victus as he too cast a concerned glance toward the backseat. “Then having to come back and see the image of his dead bondmate paraded around for the sake of advertisement...” He shuddered, thinking of the throats he would have ripped out if that was done to his Magrim.

“Did you... did you know, sir?” Castis hesitantly asked.  
  
Victus wasn't entirely sure how to answer that. Should he be honest?

_'Well, Castis, I might have had my suspicions when I walked in on your son while he was plates deep in the Commander,'_ was what he thought to say, but instead he responded with; “I knew they were close. That they were... involved. I was not aware their relationship went deeper than that.”  
  
Castis was silent so Victus pressed, “It _was_ Commander Shepard _._ Who in this galaxy hasn't fallen in love with her?”  
  
“Yes well, Garrus is paying the price for that.” His voice wasgrave.  
  
Victus nodded. “He is... but you and I have both lost our bondmates, Castis. So you know as well as I do that he would do it all over again, despite how it ends, if he could.”  
  
Castis held his gaze for a long moment until Victus broke it by saying, “I'll be in touch,” and left.

 

* * *

 

Two days had passed since his lunch with the Vakarians with no word from either of them. That was, until his omni-tool beeped at around 7 o'clock on the third evening, signaling an incoming message.  
  
_Primarch,_

_I know you're probably busy, but if you got a minute, can you meet me at Lux's at the corner of 23_ _rd_ _and 50_ _th_ _street? You can't miss it because it's the only bar run by a krogan._

_P.S: Don't worry about them finding footage of the incident at the restaurant. I made sure that would be impossible. You're welcome._  
  
_-Solana_

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed update, but now that holidays are over I can return to a more regular writing schedule. Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

 

“ _Welcome, Primarch Victus. You have arrived at Lux's Bar and Grill, family owned and operated since 2135 until 2186. Now under new management,”_ the car's VI system chimed as it gently touched down in front of the building.

Victus pulled his hood up, to better conceal his face, before he released the hatch of his vehicle and stepped out into the night air. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings and recognizing this part of town as a place he frequented only sparingly in his youth. Well, _recognizing_ might not be the right word because the destruction around him and the lack of street lights rendered the area almost completely _unrecognizable_. Clearly, construction had not reached this part of town yet.

He peered up at the sign positioned atop the building before him and noticed not all the letters lit up. That, and some were completely missing, as if they'd been blasted off. Given the state of the environment around him, they probably had been. The sign now read, _“Lu-Ba-G,”_ and the _'G'_ looked like it had been recently recovered from a pile of rubble and then poorly reattached because it hung off-kilter to its fellow letters.

Solana must have been aiming for discretion. Why else would she want to meet up here of all places?

As he approached the door, the automatic sensor kicked in and the door hissed as it lifted to allow his entrance. Though, it only made it half-way up so Victus had to stoop to walk underneath the low-hanging door, all the while trying not to think about how much it weighed and how much damage it could do if it came down on him. As he entered, he was careful not to pause, not to look caught off guard. He walked in like a regular patron as his military training demanded. To do otherwise would look weak and in a seedy place like this, appearing weak or unprepared made you a target.

His eyes swept the dimly-lit room as he moved, seeking out the woman who called him there. There were a few patrons dotting the bar's capacity. Most sat alone at their tables with only their cups for company and only a few bothered to look up at him as he passed. He could still see details of the likely-deceased past owners. Little respects like clan markings etched into pieces of the floor, securing the ghostly talons of the building's bygone owners, unwilling to relinquish their hold to the green-plated krogan who stands where they once stood. The said krogan only bothered to glance up at him briefly, pausing the motion of cleaning a glass with a dingy-looking cloth before disregarding him and resuming his task.  
  
“Yeah, I knew Commander Shepard!” That sentence, more importantly the voice behind it, immediately grabbed Victus' attention and brought it to the lone turian at the bar. Probably because it was the only turian brave -or reckless- enough to sit in front of the enormous krogan bartender, while the other patrons -as few as there were- kept their distance. The krogan's stony face gave Victus the distinct impression that he hadn't asked in the first place.  
  
 _'Garrus?'_

He sat alone, like everyone else, with his steadily growing stack of shot glasses in front of him and placed on the bar's surface to his right...

_'Is that a human helmet?'_

And a thoroughly battered one at that.

' _Oh no,'_ was his only thought when his eyes landed on the nameplate Garrus had carefully placed in front of the helmet, confirming his suspicion on whom it belonged to. It read, _Commander Shepard._ The macabre scene was made complete with an untouched shot glass placed in front of the helmet. Judging by the color of the liquid contents, it had to be levo.  
  
“Garrus,” Victus said quietly as he approached his friend. Garrus' body noticeably stiffened at his voice and he turned slowly, unsteadily, on his stool to face him. Immediately, Victus noticed the way his pupils were coated in a cloudy mist and blown so wide they almost completely encompassed the blue of his iris.

 _'He's not only drunk. He's drugged out of his mind.'_  
  
“Adrien!” He crowed, and Victus was silently thankful that, given his heavily inebriated state of mind, Garrus still possessed enough discretion to keep his title out so as not to draw unwanted attention.  
  
“Hey, Sam,” he turned toward the bartender, jabbing a thumb in Victus' direction. “I know the Primarch.”  
  
 _'Or maybe not.'_

“Take a seat!” Garrus enthusiastically grabbed the stool to his left, clearly trying to pull it out for Victus to sit on, but only managed to send it toppling over backwards, landing with a loud _thud_ against the dusty floor. The loss of the stool clearly didn't faze him one bit as he immediately went on to say, “Take a seat. You're just in time. Sam here was just about to tell me how he came by his name!”

Sam, the krogan, reacted only by staring silently at Garrus before shifting his yellow eyes onto Victus. Something about his face gave Victus the impression he was waiting for his drink order. He declined with a wave of his hand and the krogan stalked off to the other side of the bar without a word.

“Ahh,” Garrus waved his hand dismissively before he leaned into Victus' space to whisper conspiratorially, “I'll get it out of him one day. I'm certain he's a lost krogan king.”

His breath reeked of liquor and traces of other chemicals.

“You're drugged,” Victus stated.

Garrus recoiled on his stool, nearly falling off, and gave Victus a most affronted look.  
  
“Now that is so. _Rude_. Victus!” He punctuated his sentence with three jabs of his finger, missing the first two jabs by a hilariously wide margin, but finally landing the third one at his chest when he said the name.

“Red sand?” He questioned, already knowing the answer.  
  
“It's the dextro kind!” Garrus said, as if that fact should have entirely alleviated Victus' concerns. “It's good too! I can't feel-” his head tipped backward, cloudy eyes staring without seeing into the naked overhead bulbs “-aaanything!”  
  
When he lowered his head back down, he had to brace himself with both hands on the bar to steady himself as he swayed on his perch. He tilted his head sideways and said, “To think we worked so hard to impede the smuggling of this stuff. My men even _died_ for it!”

He threw his head back again and gave vent to what _would_ have sounded like a hearty laugh, if not for the way his sub-harmonics howled their unrepentant rage from within. They depicted an image in Adrien's mind of a captive beating his fists against the walls of his prison, calling, _screaming_ for someone, anyone, to hear him.

A cold finger dragged down Adrien's spine.  
  
“What's that human saying? If you can't beat 'em, join 'em?” He reached for his umpteenth shot and emptied it into his mouth. He then nudged the glass with one finger toward its multiplying used brethren. “Archangel. _Pfft_. What a waste of time. Archangel is dead. Just like the rest of them.”

“I think it's time to go home, Garrus,” said Victus, using a tone that brooked no room for argument. His eyes narrowed on Garrus' face.  
  
“But it's only 7 o'clock!” He objected.

“It's 8:30.”  
  
“It's only 8:30!”

Adrien placed a credit chit on the bar before moving to grab Garrus' arm, only for him to wrench away at the contact, which sent him reeling, losing his balance and landing hard on the floor. Before Adrien could help him up, he staggered to his feet, swiped the credit chit unceremoniously to floor, and stood face to face with the Primarch. He was close enough that the stench of alcohol assaulted his nasal plates when Garrus seethed, “I don't need your help, _Primarch_ , and I sure as shit don't need your sympathy.”  
  
With surprising care, in stark contrast to his current behavior, he collected Shepard's helmet and her nameplate and began his unsteady hobble for the door.  
  
“Don't you have a son to mourn or something?” Garrus called over his shoulder before he stooped to pass underneath the jammed door. Any anger or irritation his comment could have elicited was obliterated when Garrus lost his balance mid-stoop and ended up sprawled on his stomach. Then a heart-wrenching keen escaped the younger turian as he scrambled to pick up both the helmet and nameplate he had dropped while trying, unsuccessfully, to catch himself. Once he'd gathered the last vestiges of the woman he loved, he disappeared into the night.  
  
“ _That's_ why I asked you to come here tonight.”  
  
Victus whirled on the spot to find Solana seated at a nearby table, her face concealed with a brown-colored hood of her own. She gestured to the empty seat across from her.

“He's been coming here every night since he's been home,” she began once he was seated. She sounded like she was making a confession she'd been holding in. “And every night I've tried to get him to come home with me, but it ends basically the same way that it just did for you. He won't listen to me. He won't listen to Dad. He won't even talk to his friends and I _know_ they've been trying to contact him.”  
  
A silence fell between them, but not an awkward one. He could tell Solana was trying to gather her thoughts so he waited patiently for her to continue.  
  
“He isn't living with dad and me. He got an apartment on the west side of Cipritine. He spends all day locked up in there and then at night he comes here. I...” she trailed off, eyes boring into the dirty wooden table.  
  
“I asked you here because I don't know what else to do. His friends can't help him. He won't let dad or mehelp him. He's completely shut down. I know he considers you a friend so I hoped... Spirits, and now I'm sitting here realizing I just called in the Primarch of Palaven to help with a stupid family matter,” she finished by covering her face shamefully with her hands.  
  
Victus waited again, but when she said nothing further, he said, “The fact is, Solana-”  
  
“Call me Sol.”

“In that case, only call me ' _Primarch_ ' for business purposes only. I like removing the title every now and again. It's not often I get to.” He flicked a mandible into a smile. “The fact is, Sol, I consider your brother a friend as well. I owe him a lot, as we all do, but I owe him a little more. I'd like to help him any way I can.”  
  
“Really?” She asked, looking at him earnestly.  
  
Victus nodded his response. “He downplays his part in the war. The truth is, I don't think I could have gotten nearly as far as I did, let alone _survive_ , without his advice. I remember him referring to his position as a 'token title.' I'll admit, I thought the same way at first, but I didn't see a need to push it after seeing the way he motivated the Hierarchy to fortify Palaven's defenses. Always a sound idea. That was until the first Reaper touched down on Menae.” He suppressed a shutter as the memory resurfaced in his mind.

Comms going dark. Command towers, going silent. It was like realizing you'd been led into an ambush when you just start to notice the various traps springing around you. Then that enormous creature descended from the sky, quaking the ground when it's feet touched before bellowing that deafening roar. He was with Garrus the first time he saw a Reaper. He remembered Garrus looking more dismayed than shocked at the sight of it. Probably because his thought process had to be, _'damn, we're out of time,'_ when everyone else's was, _'what the_ _fuck_ _is that?'_

“After that, your brother became the most valuable piece on the map. He had early intel on the Reapers that no one else had; Their behavior, how advanced they were. He was literally the only man on that rock who knew what we were up against. It was his advice that stopped me from making, what I know now, several fatal mistakes. Now I find myself presented with an opportunity to advise _him_ on something _I_ have experience with. Not only have I been through it myself, but as a general I saw a lot of it in my subordinates. After all he has done for me, for Palaven, it's the least I can do.”  
  
When he finished, a slow smile began to form on Solana's face. The cold eyes she'd regarded him with during their last encounter had grown significantly warmer.  
  
“You know, I wasn't sure about you.”  
  
“I gathered that,” he deadpanned, which earned him a chuckle.  
  
“Especially when you asked my dad to come out of retirement. I understand why and so does he. Doesn't mean I have to like it. But seeing Garrus talking to you, he seemed almost like his old self... for a little while anyway.”  
  
“It was an act,” he pointed out.  
  
“I don't think it was _entirely_ an act. The way he's been behaving around dad and me, _that's_ an act. He almost sounds like himself, but there's nothing there. No life. Then when you shot out the screen for him...”  
  
“May I just have a moment to thank you for taking care of that footage for me? I was expecting that incident to become quite inconvenient.”  
  
“You may,” she grinned. “Honestly, it was child's play. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry... and thank you. Also, if your offer still stands, I'd like to accept it.”  
  
He had nothing further to ask except, “When can you start?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


His feet rustled softly against the gray-blue carpeted floor as he made his was down the long apartment corridor. He passed by dozens of steel doors, lit up red to signify their occupants' reluctance of letting anyone in. Some, he knew, were empty. The owners having never returned since the war had ended and, at this point, likely never would.

He came to a halt in front of his destination, a locked door, like the rest, with the number 1292 on the top. He quickly compared the numbers with those Solana had sent him on his omni-tool. A match. He rapped sharply on the door with a knuckle and used his sub-harmonics to emit harsh vibrations with each tap to gain the resident's attention.  
  
He got no response. He repeated the action.  
  
“I'm not buying!” He felt the haywire vibrations say, the owner clearly drunk.  
  
“And I'm not selling. Open the door, Garrus,” he thrummed.  
  
Once again, no response.  
  
“I'm not known for my patience, Vakarian,” he warned.

“Leave me alone, Victus.”  
  
He'd asked enough, he concluded. It was more of a formality anyway. He knew Garrus was not going to open the door before he'd even asked him the first time. Not while in his current state of mind. He glanced down, unperturbed at the red lock barring his entrance. He was no hacker, but he hadn't risen through the ranks to General by allowing locked doors to keep him from completing his missions. Without another word to the resident inside, he got to work.

General Victus was touted as a master tactician for a reason. All the years spent honing his talent had developed an instinct for making advantageous decisions. He knew which soldier would do best performing what job and positioned where. He knew whether to order an attack with overwhelming force or wait it out in search of a better opportunity to strike. However, the talents of a truly excellent tactician are not limited to the soldiers he's in charge of. It often required knowledge of explosives and how to best utilize them strategically to turn the tide in his favor. For example, recognizing when he requires a large one to take out the bulk of an enemy's forces or a smaller, more preciseone to distract or otherwise open an opportunity to charge.  
  
He used his omni-tool to set the level of the blast. Too strong and he could hurt himself and any civilians within range. Too weak, and he'll do nothing but piss Garrus off even more. He took a last moment to inspect his work before taking two steps back from the door. He raised his omni-tool, ran his calculations one more time both in his head and on the holo-interface, and decided one more step back was in order.  
  
“Garrus Vakarian, by order of the Primarch of Palaven,” he boomed. “I'm giving you one more chance to open the door. You have five seconds. Five.”  
  
“Four!”

Silence.  
  
“Three!”

Silence.  
  
“Two!”  
  
“Fuck off, Victus!” The vibrations of Garrus' sub-harmonics gave off all the information Victus needed in order to mentally place his proximity to the door. He was at a safe distance.

_'Safe enough, anyway.'_

Victus grinned and activated the trigger on his omni-tool.  
  
He felt the heat just a split-secondbefore he heard the blast along with an angry voice shouting from within. Something along the lines of, “Areyou out of your fucking mind!” He stood close enough to feel the fire against his face, but just far enough that it felt pleasant, not painful. So confident he was in his judge of distance that he didn't even flinch when the blast went off. The only part of his body that moved at all was the brief flutter of his clothes in reaction to the shock wave.  
  
The door, now blinking red to green, had caved in the middle. It looked like a large, angry krogan had gone charging into it. With a wave of his omni-tool the door obediently shifted apart, allowing his entrance into Garrus' living room and revealing a very shocked and very livid turian lying on his couch. Victus stepped through the door, heard them close behind him and then subsequently collapse backwards into the hall.

Garrus' apartment was small, his occupancy being very recent and it showed in his sparse setup. He had an old blue couch positioned to face the only entrance with a small kava table placed in front of it. The helmet and nameplate he saw Garrus with earlier at the bar had been placed on the table along with a line of cut red sand and several empty bottles of liquor. A screen had been mounted against the same wall holding- ' _well, had held' -_ the door. The living room lead to both a kitchen, positioned to the left, and a hallway to the right which presumably lead to a bedroom and bathroom. Of course Garrus' rifle, never far from him, was placed lovingly on a workbench -a common sight in a turian home-, bolted into the right wall. It only took Victus two seconds of sweeping the room with his eyes to pick up all that information, storing it away should he need it later. He was in hostile territory, after all.

“I tried to warn you,” he said when he met Garrus' still-cloudy glare. “I understand what you're going through right now, Vakarian, but your recent behavior is in no way becoming of a soldier your rank. As your superior, I feel a responsibility to step in. Now get your ass off that couch-” Garrus got his ass off that couch. "-Fall in, drop, and give me-” Garrus' fist connected harshly with Victus' face, effectively cutting off both his words and his breath. He staggered back from his advancing foe. Beads of blue blood sprung up between the crevasses of his nasal plating. The temptation to wipe them away with the back of his hand was strong, but he ignored it, allowing them to create dark trails down his face. He didn't have time to wipe them away. Instead, he raised his fists and waited for the next punch.

He did so just in time because Garrus sent another lightning-fast strike toward his face. Training kicked in, enabling Victus to knock the fist away, but he kept one arm lowered to protect his core, successfully catching Garrus' other fist. Victus stepped back and responded with a roundhouse kick toward Garrus' stomach, but Garrus' arms came down to barricade his torso. As he came back around, Victus used the momentum of his turn to throw his left fist into the side of Garrus' unprotected head, connecting satisfactorily.  
  
Garrus staggered back, showing all his teeth in a threatening display as the two turians began to circle each other, sizing the other up. Garrus' hand-to-hand record preceded him. He was fast. _Really_ fast. Maybe too fast for Victus to keep up with, he grudgingly gauged, but he wasn't about to be taken down by a strung-out inebriate, even if it _was_ Garrus Vakarian. If he was going to win this without killing him, he had to be patient. Let him strike first and use his own larger frame to throw the younger turian off.  
  
 _'Not quite what I had planned for the evening, but this is one way to work the toxins out. If this is what it's going to take to get you to listen up,_ _so be it, Vakarian.'_

They circled each other two more times around the living room before Garrus dashed in, utilizing the kind of speed only turians possess. Victus braced himself for the punch he knew he'd take to the gut and when it came, he grabbed Garrus' wrist with his right hand and dropped to kick his ankle out. Somewhere in his inebriated mind, Garrus expected that, because when he went down, his other hand closed painfully around Victus' right wrist, pulling his weight forward and down to the dirty, stained carpet. From his back, Garrus arched and sprung back to his feet in a perfect kip up.  
  
“Get up,” Garrus growled, seemingly reluctant to kick an opponent when he's down.  
  
 _'So you are in there,'_ Victus thought to himself, as he climbed slowly to his feet.

Victus kept his posture hunched, his back arched as he stood to face his foe, but instead of straightening, Victus charged head down, aiming for Garrus' stomach. In response, Garrus spun to send a kick into his lowered head. He missed when Victus stopped short of the kick, grabbed the leg midair and sent the younger turian off his feet and flying into the far wall, only to slump to the floor.

Victus dashed after him to connect a punishing fist into Garrus' stomach before he could recover, which sent him reeling the rest of the way to the floor. As the younger turian gasped for air, Victus stood over him, pinning his hands to the floor under his feet. He then crouched down and closed his talons over his brow plate, digging them in and eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from Garrus. Victus used his hold to force Garrus' face up to meet his eyes.

He stared into Garrus' murderous glare with his own impassive gaze. The very same one he'd wear when checking the polish on one of his weapons after time spent refining it, searching for any impurities that still needed buffering. In this instance, it's to check the clarity of his eyes. He felt a swell of satisfaction upon noticing the glassy haze that had clouded the blue irises, had slowly begun to fade.  
  
 _'Good. Get it out of your system.'_  
  
Taking a moment to concede that he, unlike his opponent, is not above kicking a man when he's down, Victus calmly uttered, “Sorry,” meaning it. He then released the brow plate, stood up, and sent a swift, painful kick into Garrus' gut. He ignored the way his combatant wheezed at the contact, and kicked him, hard, a second time. Noticing the signs he'd hoped to see, he stepped back as the younger turian began to retch up the contents of his stomach.

“ _There_ we go,” he praised, using the same tone he'd use when congratulating a new recruit for hitting a particularly difficult target after trying and missing many times. “Get it out, Vakarian.”

Suddenly, Garrus rolled on his back, spinning on his carapace in his own vomit and sent his legs whipping in the air in a technique Victus had never seen before. It was a technique the younger turian must have picked up on his travels because it certainly wasn't one taught in any military branch. He didn't have long to think on that because one leg caught him upside the head while the other one connected with his sensitive, unplated side. Pain blinded him as he met the floor, but he knew he couldn't dwell on it. He scrambled to his feet before Garrus could advance on him and the two went back to circling each other again, both gasping for air.  
  
 _'This has to end. Now.'_ The longer the fight dragged on, the more exhausted he felt himself becoming. In contrast, his opponent seemed like he was only getting started as his mind was slowly released from its drugged state.  
  
 _'I'm getting too old for this shit,'_ he thought bitterly to himself as he continued circling. That was when his eyes landed on his win con. It's a dirty move, but an effective one. _'And I've never claimed to be above fighting dirty.'_  
  
First things first, he had to get Garrus to move.  
  
“You know, Vakarian, for a sniper, you're good at this. Maybe even the best I've seen.” Garrus only growled in response, but his feet kept moving. “Did Commander Shepard teach you that little trick? You two sparred a lot, didn't you? You know, in between fucking each other while a war raged on around you.” If Garrus looked angry before, he looked homicidal now.  
  
 _'One more push.'_  
  
“To think of the potential you had,” he closed his eyes and shook his head in faux remorse. When he opened them, he looked Garrus dead in the eye and growled, “Instead you wasted it by gallivanting off with that silly, little, human bitch.”  
  
That did it. Garrus lunged forward with his jaws open and talons flexed, absolutely blind with anger, and Victus seized his opportunity to act. He lowered his frame and returned the charge, dodging Garrus' attack as he barreled past him and kept running. He never _saw_ the instant when it dawned on Garrus just what the Primarch was going for. He _knew_ it when he heard a strained, “No. No. _Wait_ ,” just as Victus vaulted over the back of the couch that separated him from his goal, and reached for his prize; the pewter nameplate reading: _**Commander Shepard.**_

He grasped the nameplate with both hands, holding it perpendicular to the floor and turned around just in time to see Garrus come to a hard stop, horror-stricken. Whatever cloud he'd been in at the start of their fight had completely dissipated as he looked on with clear, comprehending eyes. Victus whipped the nameplate down to meet its fate with his knee, an action that would surely snap it in half.  
  
“VICTUS, PLEASE!” It was the sound of a truly desperate man. One that's about to personally witness the loss of something near and dear to him. Like snapping the nameplate would somehow make Commander Shepard deader than she is. Regardless, it made his heart sink like a stone in his chest, seizing all motor functions to his limbs.  
  
 _“Shock and awe. You're still awake,”_ Garrus' sarcastic voice rumbled, but not from the stricken turian standing before him. Victus quickly glanced over his shoulder at the sound, finding that the screen behind him had been powered on at some point during their brawl. It was a recording Garrus had likely been watching prior to Victus' intrusion. By the looks of it, it's video footage via the visor Garrus often wore on his head, giving the viewer a Garrus point-of-view of the world. In this case, he moved through a cabin Victus didn't recognize.  
  
 _“I'm in bed, aren't I? Take your victories where you can, Vakarian.”_ Was the unmistakable sound of Commander Shepard's voice, albeit tired and nasally sounding. Apparently she'd taken ill sometime during the war.  
  
 _“That soup?”_ She asked, sitting up and peering curiously at the tray Vakarian was holding as he approached her bed. The sheet fell away from her as she rose, revealing her unclothed torso.

Humans and turians differ drastically when it comes to nudity, Victus knows. From his understanding, humansdon't usually reveal their naked bodies except in intimate circumstances or when with someone they know well and trust. To do different is viewed as lewd and dirty. So, for Commander Shepard to think nothing of revealing her bare chest to Garrus must speak volumes of their relationship. She looked tiny and vulnerable, in a way Victus had never seen and knew he had no right to.  
  
 _“Shepard, please.”_ Garrus scoffed. _“I'd hardly consider getting you into bed a victory. Not like it's hard.”_  
  
Shepard snorted and made only her middle finger, on her right hand, visible. It's a gesture Victus was very familiar with, having saw it a lot years ago when he shot at humans on Shanxi.  
  
 _“Ass. But I guess I walked into that one,”_ she acknowledged with a smirk, accepting the tray Garrus offered her.  
  
 _“Not only did you walk into it, you left the door open behind you and yes, soup. Doctor's orders.”_  
  
 _“Doctor's orders or boyfriend's orders?”_  
  
 _“Can it be both?”_  
  
 _“In this case, yes. I'm starving.”_  
  
The camera sunk down about two feet as Garrus sat down on Commander Shepard's bed, watching her eat. She swallowed five spoonfuls before she stopped, eyes meeting Garrus' and, by proxy, the camera. Victus' comprehension of human expressions was limited and, at this point, out of practice. From what he did know, he thought her face looked contemplative, as if trying to figure out the turian sitting across from her.

“ _You're upset,”_ she stated.  
  
 _“A little.”_

Shepard set her tray on her nightstand before reaching across the sheets, her hand disappearing beneath the view of the camera until Garrus looked down at his own hand. Truly a bizarre sight to see five, tiny digits with harmless blunted nails enclosing three large ones, each tipped with a talon, Victus knew from personal experience, that could cut through that skin like tissue paper. Their hold was practiced, comfortable, clearly a normal thing to do between the two participants.  
  
 _“I had to do it, Garrus. You know that,”_ she said.  
  
 _“I do, but just because I know_ why _my girlfriend is submerging herself in an old mech, in an ocean on some unknown planet to talk to an ancient race, doesn't make me any less worried about her.”_ A talon reached up to gently stroke the commander's cheek. She leaned into the touch, not fearing it at all. Then her face scrunched up, pained, and she looked up with moistened eyes.  
  
 _“It's just kind of hitting me now. The last few days. Damn, Garrus,”_ she said quietly, shaking her head. She raised her hand to wipe furtively at her eyes with the back of her hand. Tentatively, she asked,  _“I know you're upset, but could I ask a favor? Can you take the rest of the night off and stay here... with me?”_

The recording did nothing to stifle the subharmonics that erupted at her question. They sung an entire story of his willingness to stay with her. They said she needn't have asked. They promised to protect her. Of his complete and utter devotion to her. The most heartbreaking thing was the way her face didn't change, didn't react to the sound because she was deaf to it. Garrus was pouring his heart out to a woman who couldn't even understand it. His sub-harmonics sung a sonnet of his feelings, but when he went to voice them, which he wouldn't have to do with another turian, they crashed through his mouth and ended as nothing more than a, _“Sure, Shepard.”_  
  
By that point, Victus had completely turned around to face the screen. He glanced back over his shoulder at Garrus. He stood motionless, staring at the screen like he was lost in a trance, arms hung loosely at his side.  
  
Victus looked back at the screen in time to see the camera shift and wobble as it was removed from its owner'shead and left to join the tray of soup on the nightstand. It continued to record as Garrus, now in full view, situated himself under the blanket beside Shepard. He laid on his side, arms wrapped around the tiny human, who had turned her naked back to the camera, resting her forehead against Garrus' throat. Garrus' chin rested atop her head and one hand came up to card his talons through her copper hair.  
  
 _“You want to know the best thing about having a boyfriend whose DNA spirals the other way?”_ Garrus asked. His tone was playful, but the sub-harmonics of a bonded turian continued to rumble with every word he said to her. Again, they went unacknowledged and unreciprocated.  
  
 _“What's that?”_ She mumbled sleepily.  
  
 _“I'm completely unaffected by whatever cold virus is making you sick right now!”_ He punctuated the sentence by waving both arms in mock celebration. She laughed and allowed him to roll on top of her. Her laughter immediately ceased when he grabbed her face with both hands and brought his mouth down to meet hers in a strange turian adaption of human affection.  _“And I have a few ideas how to utilize that immunity to help you sleep.”_  
  
 _“Yeah?”_ she asked, her voice breathy. _“What might those be?”_  
  
Her hands crept up beneath his fringe for just a moment before she had to let him go as he disappeared beneath the covers, biting and nipping his way down her neck and collarboneas he went. The commander threw her head back against the pillow, a soft moan escaping her lips.

The screen abruptly went dark.  
  
Victus turned to face Garrus in time to see him lower his omni-tool, clearly having just recovered enough sense of mind to turn the screen off. Judging by the heavily conflicted look on his face, he had a thousand things to say, but no idea where to even begin mapping his words out. Instead, he shifted his weight from foot to foot and refused to meet Victus' eyes.

He had never seen him look so lost.  
  
The pewter nameplate somehow felt heavier in Victus' hand as it hung slackly in his grip. He'd forgotten he'd been holding it until now. He placed it gently on the coffee table, exactly how he found it, suddenly feeling ashamed for even _threatening_ to snap it.

A deafening silence stretched between them until Victus eventually broke it by asking, “Did you ever tell her?”  
  
For a moment he almost thought Garrus would deem not to answer. When he did, it was with a hesitant, "No.”  
  
“I see.” He glanced down at the table, seeking out the cracked visor of the beaten helmet. “Why not... if you don't mind me asking?”

“I almost did. Several times. Humans-uh... they don't bond to their partners the same way we do. They _choose_ to be monogamous and sometimes... they choose to walk away.”  
  
“You were afraid _she'd_ eventually choose to walk away,” he pointed.  
  
“No,” he replied instantly with a shake of his head. “I was afraid she _wouldn't_ if or when the time comes she'd want to. She already had the whole galaxy asking everything of her. I didn't want to be another person adding to that. She didn't need that, especially from me. She deserved the very best and if the time comes when I couldn't give her that, I wanted her to be able to move on and find the best with someone else. I didn't want her to feel stuck with me out of pity. I didn't want...” and he trailed off, seemingly unable to finish his sentence.  
  
Picking his train of thought, Victus finished for him with, “You didn't want her to be burdened with the knowledge of how easily her human nature could destroy you.” Garrus winced at that. “Additionally, with the war, that her potential death would-”  
  
“-Yeah.”

Another thick silence settled between them, either one of them not knowing how to break it. He watched Garrus' body language, the way his face and sub-vocals waged war with each other between expressing their wanting to save face in front of a superior and wanting to embrace his grief; to succumb to it. As he watched him, he began to see similarities between them. Except in his own case, it wasn't a general or a Primarch he needed to save face with. In his case, it was a five-year-old with sad green eyes that watched his expressions, his body language, his sub-harmonics. Wanting strength from him.  
  
Resolved in his decision to express this to the younger turian, Victus raised his arm to activate his omni-tool.  
  
 _“Hey, private.”_ Confusion registered on Garrus' face as the new voice filled in the silence between them.

“ _Wouldn't you know it, there's a problem on board and only I can fix it. Spirits, I really hope this recording reaches you. I don't have long, but I just wanted to say-really quick, that you and Tarquin are everything to me. I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do, but it's the only way I can get my crew out of here safely. Fucking batarians. I love you both_ so _much, Adrien. Please never-”_ and as the audio cut off at the same part that it always did, Victus looked up to meet Garrus' watchful stare. He held his gaze, acknowledging the mutual understanding that grew between them, silent and yet screaming. This time, it was Garrus to break the silence.  
  
“What happened?” He asked, his voice quiet.  
  
“It was supposed to be another routine mission.” Garrus snorted at that, but it wasn't the noise someone would make at finding something humorous or ironic. It was the kind of noise that grew from something bitter, a memory perhaps.  
  
“That's how they all begin,” he replied sarcastically.  
  
Victus smiled.  
  
“My Magrim was an engineer, the best I've met before or since. Even when she was heavily pregnant, her expertise was always highly sought after on missions both routine and extraordinary. She was the perfect turian... dutiful to a fault,” he smiled wryly at the thought. “Her last assignment was aboard a frigate for what was supposed to be a simple and routine escort mission of a cargo freighter, transporting element zero. They were nearing their last relay jump when they were ambushed by batarians.”

He paused upon hearing the acid in his voice, coloring his sub-harmonics to something rancorous. He considered taking a moment to rein in his spite before continuing, but he quickly dismissed that thought. In that moment, he didn't want to be _Primarch_ Victus. He just wanted to be Adrien, sharing a personal story with a friend.

He pressed on with his intent for transparency.

“Presumably pirates... at least that's what I was told at the time. It wasn't until recently, with the clearance this new little title of mine grants, did I find out that the Hierarchy had reason to believe that it was an organized strike orchestrated by the Hegemony itself.” His fist clenched as he relived the feeling of utter betrayal upon reading that file only weeks ago.

"The reason the Hierarchy didn't issue an order to retaliate was because they did not have evidence sufficient enough to warrant starting a war as bloody and costly as it would undoubtedly be with an advisory as formidable as the Hegemony." He recalled the moment any and all sympathy, even in its smallest form, for the batarians and their downfall had been wiped clean by this new discovery. In the words of Magrim, _fuck batarians._ Their whole race could wither and die out as far as Adrian was concerned.  
  
“The damage done to their frigate's engines was so significant that they would be unable to escape. They needed another source of power; a boost... an explosion. One big enough to propel them away from the enemy and across the remaining distance to the relay, which would transport them safely back into Citadel space. Magrim suggested overloading the ship's drivecore, but due to the damage, doing so remotely was impossible... it had to be done manually. No one knew the drivecore better than she did so naturally... she volunteered.”  
  
Victus allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts. He couldn't remember the last time he shared this story with someone. In fact, as he recalled, Tarquin was the last person to inquire about it and it had been years ago when he last did. He was more concerned in learning about how his mother lived, what she was like, than how she died, which was a fact Adrien always felt torn over. On one hand, he was glad her son wanted to think of her as she was, coupled with what little he could remember of her himself. On the other hand, she died bravely, giving up her life to save her crew mates, something any turian son or bondmate would be proud of.  
  
“She took hundreds of those bastards down with her, though,” he continued with a low growl in his speech. "She made sure the ship was positioned in such a way that the explosion would simultaneously take out the bulk of the batarian fleet, rendering them unable to give chase through the relay.”  
  
He flashed a genuine smile and said, “So you see, Vakarian, you're not the only one that keeps a recording of his dead bondmate.”

Garrus brought his hand up to clutch gently at his own chest, as if searching for something there. Victus knew exactly what he was feeling for.  
  
“Does it ever get easier?” he asked.  
  
“That hollow feeling in your chest? No... and while you'll form other relationships with other people, you'll never feel the same way for any of them like you did for your mate. Spirits know I've tried. As time goes on, you just find ways to deal with it. I've heard it described as being half alive and damn if there aren't days that I still feel that way. Just be glad you don't have a five-year-old to have to worry about on top of it.” The last comment earned him a weak smile. The first one he'd seen on Garrus' face since barging into his life mere moments ago.  
  
“I've found that the best way of dealing with this grief is to stay in motion. Starting Lunae, I expect you to take up position as my protege.” Victus directed a pointed look at Garrus. “As I asked earlier.”  
  
“Lunae, why not tomorrow?”  
  
Victus turned and headed for the now permanently opened entrance. As he moved, he called back over his shoulder, “Because you and I are going hunting tomorrow, Vakarian. Get some rest. We leave at 0600-” he broke his sentence off as he glanced at the two doors lying blackened and defeated at his feet. It was the sudden guilt welling in his gut that encouraged him to finish his confrontation with Garrus by saying:  
  
“I'll send someone to fix that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank you for the comments and kudos! They make me super happy and motivated. I'm hoping to get Chapter 8 out next weekend. Thanks for reading. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a shame we didn't get to see Palaven in the game, but I love reading people's interpretations of it. So here's my take of ecosystems on Palaven. Now, before you read, please note that I'm not a biologist and it will probably show in the text. :)
> 
> Also, you'll notice that I tend to change how I regard Victus, depending on the context. For example, I refer to him as "Adrien" frequently in this chapter. The change is intentional. In his downtown, he's just "Adrien." When he needs to put on appearances or is just generally thinking as a military officer or a Primarch, he's "Victus."

'' _Welcome, Primarch Victus, to Intuneric Woodland,'_ The VI chimed as the skycar lowered itself smoothly to the ground. ' _Unified and operated under Hierarchy Management since 1900 BCE.'_  
  
The skycar's driver and passenger door hissed as it lifted to allow its passengers to step out and get their first glimpse at what had been appropriately deemed by the locals, The Silver Forest, and for good reason. A metallic compound colored the soil and trees in a silver-gray color with some hints of brown splotched here and there. Even the vegetation couldn't go unaffected. While colored in various hues of greens, blues, reds and purples, the leaves retained a silvery shimmer that played with Trebia's light in spectacular ways. The affect, admittedly, was not contained to that forest. Other forests, jungles and swamps that stretched the ring of Palaven's equator are colored in such a way, which is why Palaven was thought of as silver.  
  
The skycar had landed on the only spot of pavement for miles around on a hilltop overlooking the forest. Despite the destruction of Cipritine, Adrien felt immensely relieved at seeing the forest seemingly untouched by the Reapers influence. He let his eyes slide shut and he breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the kind of hot, humid air the forest provided. The smell of the plants triggered numerous nostalgic events in his head and he couldn't help but bask in it. The scent and sound of the woodlands carried with it the music that was Magrim's laughter. He heard Tarquin's crow of triumph after taking down his first kill on his twelfth birthday.He felt the vibrations of the fauna moving around him through the trees, their own sub-vocals buzzing constantly. He spread his arms, feeling the symphony right down to the palms of his hands. His eyes remained closed, soaking in the sounds as well as Trebia's harsh rays that blazed against his plates, warming him pleasantly.

He felt alive.

It was the kind of feeling only mother Palaven could provide to her children. Unfortunately, they don't realize how much they benefit from it, how much they miss it, until they have to leave her and live among races and creatures with flat, unevolved vocal cords and artificial sunlight.

 _'And snow,_ ' he thought with distaste.

Tarquin had cooking for his escape. Magrim had tinkering with her tech. Adrien had the outdoors. For the first time since stepping off that shuttle, he truly felt at home again.

“Uh-huh. Is this the part when you murder me and hide my body in the woods?” The question chased away the ghosts of happier times. Adrien turned to regard his rather dismayed-looking companion.

“Are you telling me Castis never took you hunting?”

Garrus shrugged.

“Maybe once or twice when I was kid,” he replied before stooping to retrieve his sniper rifle from the trunk of the car.

“Leave it. You won't need it,” Adrien stated, his voice resonating a matter-of-fact tone. Garrus peered at him from around the hood of the car with mild surprise etched across his face.

“Why didn't you mention that when we left?” He asked, his eyes now skewed with suspicion. Now it was Adrien's turn to shrug.

“I wasn't born yesterday. I know better than to separate a sniper from his rifle.”

“What are you talking about? You're asking one to separate from it now.”

“Prey don't carry guns, Vakarian. It's cheating. You have talons and teeth and you're going to use them the way nature demands,” Adrien coached. “At any rate, we're not going far.”

Garrus turned away, grumbling in agitation under his breath as he tucked his rifle lovingly back into the car and shut the trunk. When he looked back up, it was to the unexpected image of Adrien undoing his shirt. Garrus froze.

“Uh. What are you doing?” He asked, discomfort displayed prominently on his face and posture.

Adrien paused in the motion of removing his shirt to give Garrus an odd look. It took several seconds for him to realize the reasoning for his reaction.

“You've been spending too much time around humans, Vakarian,” Adrien chided.

Garrus grimaced, clearly unimpressed, and drawled, “So what I'm gathering is that your idea of a good time is to strip naked and go running through the woods.”

“If we're lucky, we'll come across an orgy,” Adrien responded, flashing a glib smile at Garrus, who stared back with narrowed eyes.

“Says the leader of the whole damn planet,” he retorted with an exacerbated shake of his head. “I'll keep my clothes on, thanks.”

“Suit yourself, but they'll only get in the way,” said Adrien as he removed the last of his clothing. He folded them and placed them on the backseat. The two turians, one naked and one clothed, turned and headed for the edge of the circular plot of concrete that ended at the start of the treeline.

“Mind if I ask why we're out here?” Garrus queried, his tone was annoyed as the pair passed the treeline. Adrien's only response was to snap his sub-vocals harshly at the younger turian. Garrus got the message and reluctantly quieted.

Years of experience clamped down on Adrien's sub-harmonics and he made no sound as his bare feet padded through the silver clay. He felt the way the soft silt webbed and crack around his toes as his weight pressed in with each step. Every movement of his body, from the placement of his feet to the way he turned his head, was perfectly timed with the buzzing din of the forest. He could feel the vibrations of the wildlife tingling against his hide like a current of electricity.

Adrien knew this forest well, having been brought out here by both his parents in his youth.

 _'It's tradition,'_ his father told him, _'and an excellent way to learn to tap into your instincts when you need to_. _'_

Everything he knew about the forest he credited to his father, Tywin Victus. His father was the first one to explain to Adrien the theory that the first single-celled organism at the root of the evolutionary tree, moved around with the use of vibrations, which paved the way of life for all of Palaven's organisms. The forest was a prime example for that theory, having evolved over time into an ecosystem based largely on sound and vibrations. While the animals hummed with their sub-vocals, the leaves of the trees and plants, most of which are large and bowl-shaped (like a turian's cowl) to better catch the sounds and bounce them off each other, benefited because the vibrations stimulated their cells and promoted growth. The bouncing sounds would then attract more animals that would eat the plants, spread the seeds, and the cycle would begin anew. Additionally, herbivores benefited because the leaves provided a cloak with the shifting sounds they created, making it difficult for carnivores to zero in on their whereabouts. It's theorized that turians gained their intelligence because they were the carnivores that eventually developed brains complex enough to sort the sounds to find their targets. That was how turians became Palaven's apex predator.

Adrien froze, so suddenly that Garrus nearly walked into him, when he at last felt the particular hum he'd been hoping for.

 _'Wild perceaclops.'_ A tough, hardy animal, capable of thriving all over Palaven. There are thirty known species, each one suited to survive in different climates. They're also known for their considerable size, often growing around 120 cm and weighing in as much as 90 kg. Their large, round bodies are patched with thick plating, not unlike that of turians, to protect them from Palaven's radiation levels. Two thick horns adorned their heads and they curled down, mounting their large skulls in a frame of bone-breaking fury. The horns are slightly flat, and the edges curled in faintly, creating a dish-like shape to catch and rebound vibrations in the same way a turian's cowl does.

In ancient times, the creatures were used as a primary food source for primitive turians. This was due to their rather docile nature, which made them suitable to domesticate and raise for meat for hundreds of years. They also bred year-round, often having three to five calves in a brood. Farming, for the most part, had died out in turian culture in favor of the much more cost-effective and environmentally-conscientious method of vat-growing meat. While vat-grown meat is fine and serves its purpose, the general consensus is there is nothing quite like the taste of wild perceaclops meat.

Tarquin had agreed with that. He loved grilling any wild-caught meat, but perceaclops steaks were a favorite for both him and his father.

 _“Think of it as rent,”_ Tarquin would sometimes quip with a slightly bashful smile around his first bite, after receiving gratitude for his prepared meals. _“I'll keep the freezer full, dad.”_

Adrien was happy to do so.

_'The freezer is empty now.'_

“You alright?” A distant voice dragged Adrien to the present where he found himself standing in the silver forest with an icy stone weighing heavily in his gut. He turned around to find a pair of blue eyes watching him intently. Adrien said nothing, but he nodded his confirmation.

His amber eyes closed out the world, cutting out all visual stimuli and allowing his innate instincts, which were normally buried deep for the sake of civilized society, to bubble to the surface. He visualized a pair of green eyes blinking at him before vanishing completely. When he opened his eyes again, his feet were already moving.

He moved swiftly, but carefully through the brush. He didn't know where the animal was, but he knew exactly how to find it. His sub-vocals thrummed a rhythmic staccato that he timed perfectly with his footsteps to conceal them. At the same time, he turned his head, thrummed against certain leaves, knowing the direction they'd bounce his sound to, with the purpose of drawing his prey where he wanted it. It was a skill that needed to be taught and honed, with only the most experienced hunters knowing how. When he heard an answering hum, his feet quickened, taking the pair deeper into the forest.

When the humming got louder, Adrien slowed and crept up behind a bush. When he'd settled at what he deemed an acceptable distance behind a thick brier, he stealthily peered over the top and spotted his quarry. It was a large male with beige hide and dark, chocolate brown plates. It walked slowly through the brush with its nose to the ground in search of roots, still completely unaware of the predators watching it.

As much as Adrien wanted to take it down himself, he knew this was for Garrus. He glanced back at said turian crouched behind him and silently signaled him with a jerk of his head. Garrus was clearly reluctant to the idea. He returned a _you-can't-be-serious_ kind of look, but when he only received an impatient nod from Adrien he began to inch forward with a scowl on his face.

“Just let go,” Adrien quietly instructed. “Your instincts are there and they know what to do. Trust them. Let them take over.”

Garrus' shoulders slumped and he glanced back with an appearance of helplessness.

“I don't know how,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice low and undetected.

“Yes you do. They take over during sex, don't they?” Adrien squinted at Garrus. “Or do they not if your partner is human?”

“That's different,” he growled his agitated response. Then with a low, somewhat sheepish voice he added, “Andyes. They still do.”

Unfortunately, their exchange had the unwanted result of alerting the perceaclops. It snapped itshead from the ground and began to scan its surroundings.

“Trust me. It's not. Now get out there before it decides to leave.” Adrien turned his head away from his companion to watch their prey. He didn't need to have eyes on Garrus to know he had given him a withering look as he readied himself for his ambush.

_'This'll be good.'_

Garrus waited just three heartbeats before springing from the brush. He dashed at the creature and launched himself into the air just as the animal's eyes landed on him. In the split second that it took for the perceaclops to turn and make its escape, Garrus' talons dug into the plating. The animal cried out as Garrus bent to close his jaws around the back of its neck-

The younger turian was sent rolling unceremoniously to the ground in a cloud of silver dust after the animal threw its head back and nailed him in the face with the back curve of its horns.

It took off.

Adrien didn't even attempt to retain his laughter.

“And that's why our faces are completely plated!” He called out to the fallen turian. “Don't worry, Vakarian. That happens to everyone on their first attempt.”

If Garrus heard him, he gave no indication of it. The two hands that clutched at his bruising face slowly slid down, unveiling the feral visage that hijacked his features. A savage snarl ripped from his throat as the younger turian scrambled to his feet and gave chase through the brush.

Adrien grinned, his eyes locked on the section of foliage Garrus disappeared through. He then allowed his eyelids to slide shut, feeling his own instincts rise to the surface to take control again. When he reopened his eyes, he studied the world as a predator and he was already darting after his hunting partner. Colors and trees blurred around him as his mind settled on a single goal; the hunt. He had no use for any other concerns.

Only survival.

Without missing a beat in his step, he thrummed his sub-vocals, sending the sound echoing through the forest. Within seconds, the membrane lining his cowl prickled with the sensation of an answering hum. He knew where the younger turian was.

The older turian changed course, heading south-east into the forest. As he ran, he came upon a scrap of fabric hanging torn and limp from a tree branch. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized it as the younger turian's, but it was unimportant.

They were closing in on their target.

He felt the thrum of his partner's sub-harmonics again, telling him his position relative to his own as well as that of their quarry's. The turians were arching around the animal as it barreled through the trees somewhere between them. The older turian slowed his pace, allowing himself to fall just behind the animal they were pursuing. He thrummed again, aiming the sound at where he was sure the animal's driveline was, urging it to keep running forward. He then sped up, knowing he had to pass it if their tactic was going to work.

Trees whipped past him, but his focus was solely on listening for his target. He should be closing in on it... now!

The large perceaclops exploded through the trees ahead of him. The older turian wanted to pounce, wanted to take it down, but just as he was about to, a stronger voice stepped in.

 _'This isn't your kill,'_ it said.

The world rushed back into focus as Adrien quickly stepped to the side, just out of range of the perceaclop's swinging head. Though, still within perfect range to see Garrus burst from the trees behind it. His back was arched, knees pulled up slightly in preparation for his landing and his deadly talons were flexed. Having lost every shred of clothing he had worn -' _I did warn him'_ \- the color of his hide and plates blended perfectly with the woodlands, as nature intended. He looked every bit a depiction of primitive turians, etched on ancient, unearthed pottery in a temple somewhere. He was the epitome of an apex predator, free from the shackles of society, with only one goal in mind. The kill.

Garrus' bare feet landed on the back end of the animal, the talons on his uncovered toes, digging into the plates as he balanced almost effortlessly. His hands flew to the animal'shorns, bracing its head while at the same time, his jaws closed around the back of its neck. With a simultaneous yank from both his arms and jaws, the animals neck twisted around and it collapsed. The momentum of its gallop sent it sliding and rolling over several times on top of Garrus, but he would not be dislodged this time.

Adrien waited for the silver dust to settle and all was still and silent as he did so. Even the forest around them had quieted. That was until Garrus leapt to his feet with a triumphant crow. Adrien smiled, having seen this victory celebration countless times already, though the performers wore different faces. Magrim and Tarquin, of course, but also every man and woman that ever served under his platoon.

He had learned so much about survival and himself as a soldier before he'd even entered basic and Victus credited a lot of that to the time he spent in the forest with his father. He had benefited from it so much that he had developed his own tradition of bringing his soldiers out here. It was an effective way to let off steam, especially before or after planned deployment. Not only was it better than any drug to relax and clear the mind before a stressful mission, but it had the added benefit of strengthening their skill at working as a team.

Additionally, it was the perfect demonstration to his men that, despite whatever differences there were between them, what colony or space station they came from, they are all turian. Once they passed the bullshit and prejudices of what markings they wore, or in Attilia's case, didn't wear, it was instinctual to work together to achieve a common goal. It's within their very DNA to do so.

After the hunt, they would spend the night out in the woods, cooking their kill over an open fire. It had the potential to be both a solemn occasion or a joyous one. They were brothers and sisters in arms, enjoying the spoils of their teamwork, but they did so knowing that one or more of them might not make it back to sit around the fire again when they returned for the after-mission hunt.

Victus credited his platoon's continued success to this tradition. In his opinion, there were no other group of soldiers that worked together better than _his_ men could. They trusted him and they trusted each other. Though Victus was well aware of how his fellow officers felt about it. Many of them were of the opinion that he allowed too much attachment between his soldiers, that he coddled them, but he disagreed. Not only did he put his men through drills that would often leave them sleeping on their feet, but there are few things more unpredictable and _merciless_ than a very large and frightened wild animal, fighting for its life. As a result, his men's abilities to handle unpredictable situations were peerless in the military and they had the record to prove it. Besides, if he could get a once ne'er do well Invictus kid to work seamlessly with both a Palaven-born and an Omega street brat, he must have been doing something right.

Having to say goodbye to them on Menae, to leave them to the horrors on that moon, had been the first sacrifice he had to make as Primarch.

He would have rather died with them.

Attila's first hunt was almost as memorable to him as Tarquin's. Before she had arrived blinking in Trebia's light as she first stepped foot on the homeworld of her ancestors, she had never so much as felt real dirt under her feet. She had never even felt real sunlight on her plates let alone be surrounded by a living, _thriving_ ecosystem like this forest. The sheer amount of _life_ stood in stark contrast to the diseased beast that is Omega, where she called home all her life. He remembered the visible impact it had on her. He remembered how she initially struggled. She got butted in the face several times before she finally _let go_ and let her inner turian take over. While teamwork never became her strongest suit, she became competent at it, enough to earn the platoon's trust... as well as his own.

Palaven had become her home.

Garrus smiled at Adrien with blue-stained teeth. His eyes shown alight with the same life Adrien remembered. Then Garrus opened his mouth, saying, “Didyou see that, Dad?”

And Tarquin's twelve-year-old voice came out.

Adrien felt the way his mandibles pinched into his jaw and his eyes hardening on Garrus' face. That same icy stone collapsed in his gut. Unfortunately, he was too slow and unprepared to stop his body from reacting, taking two steps back as a result. Of course Garrus caught it, made evident by the way his smile fell, replaced with clear concern.

“Victus?”

“I'm fine,” he rebounded, perhaps with a little more force than necessary. He ignored how Garrus' worried expression changed to one of confusion and pressed on. “How do you feel?”

He could tell Garrus wanted to press him, but mercifully he dropped it and said, “I feel great.” He then inclined his head, implying his hesitant curiosity and asked, “Is this what you did to cope?”

Adrien nodded.

“I also brought my platoon out here before and after every planned mission. Before the missions, it was an effective way to clear the mind.” Garrus nodded, both in agreement as well as an indicator for his own quieted mind. “After the missions, it often doubled as a way to grieve when we needed to.”

Garrus said nothing as the implication sunk in. Victus took a moment to approach the kill, making sure it was dead before turning back to Garrus. He said, “I've been doing this a long time, Vakarian. You're not the first soldier I've brought out here to escape their pain. Drugs, alcohol, sex, they help for a little while, but in my experience, there is no greater medicine for the mind than saying _'fuck you'_ to decorum and returning to your roots.

“Do you have time to hunt a few more of these with me?” Adrien asked, jabbing a thumb at the carcass behind him.

“A _few_ more?” Garrus queried, clearly puzzled at the thought. “I think one's more than enough to eat between the two of us, don't you?”

Adrien grinned and said, “I have some ideas for what we can do with the others. Besides, I need to kill something. The next one's mine.”

Garrus returned his smile and replied with, “I got time, but if you don't mind, can I ask a favor?”  
  
“What's that?”  
  
“Mind helping me find my clothes?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


By mid-afternoon, the duo had secured two more kills, giving them three dead perceaclops that they had to attach to the top of Adrien's car. They were tempted to go for a forth, but as he felt the skycar struggle for altitude under the dead weight of its additional passengers, they were glad they had stopped when they did.

Garrus reclined in his chair, appearing as relaxed as Victus had ever seen him. They sat in a companionable silence with only the music player to fill the quiet. It had taken them a few tries to find music they both enjoyed. Garrus kept trying to play new-age crap and he scoffed when Adrien tried to play something older from his generation.

“No respect for the classics,” he had grumbled.

“'Classics,' is a matter of perspective,” Garrus countered.

“We're not listening to the Fleet and Flotilla soundtrack.”

“You don't know what you're missing.”

“Not in my car, Vakarian.”

“Then I'll be sure to drive next time.”

They had settled on music Garrus had grown accustomed to while on the _Normandy_ and during his time on Omega. The latter place, Adrien quickly learned, was a subject Garrus was reluctant to go into. He knew it had something to do with that Archangel business he had overheard, but he saw no need to press for details. It was human music, he had learned, and it served as a decent middle ground for their generational gap.

It was twenty minutes into their return trip when Garrus turned his head to regard Victus. He asked, “So, what exactly does this job require?”

Victus inclined his head and responded with, “You're my Reaper Advisor, aren't you?”

“Hm. I was sort of under the impression that changed when the Reapers all dropped dead.”

“Only as far as what's expected of you. I don't need tactics anymore, but in case you haven't noticed, they're lying all over Palaven. I want you to take up your task force once again and begin tracking down each and every one of them.”

From all his previous encounters with Garrus, he expected some kind of argument from him. So he was surprised that Garrus only replied, albeit cautiously, with, “What do you have in mind for them?”

“Some members of the Hierarchy are of the opinion that we should study them.” Victus had to press on hurriedly when he recognized the contentious reaction in Garrus' body language. “I disagreed.”

He waited for the younger turian's posture to relax again before continuing. “It was also suggested that we drop them into our deepest ocean, but I disagreed with that too. I want them completely destroyed, leaving no possibility for them to fall into wrong hands. I thought a direct course into Trebia would be sufficient.”

“Sounds expensive,” Garrus said, looking thoughtful, but only for a moment. With an affable smirk on his face he said, “I like the way you think, Primarch.”

“I thought you would approve.” Adrien had turned to watch the sky in front of him. The skycar was in auto-pilot and en route for Cipritine, not needing any input from the driver, but Victus was never one to put his feet up while in the driver's seat. He was ever watchful of his surroundings and the skycar's readouts on the dashboard.

“Shepard would have approved too.” The comment caught him slightly off guard and he turned to Garrus, not bothering to hide his mild surprise. He found him smiling, perhaps a little sadly, but his comment was genuine. Garrus redirected his gaze to Palaven's yellow sky, as if he sought something in its abyss.

Mention of the commander sparked Victus' memory of the night before, in particular, the footage he had watched. Something curious was mentioned in it, that he had made note to ask Garrus when it was appropriate. He concluded that now was as good a time as any.

“About that recording last night,” he began, not missing the way Garrus suddenly stiffened. “You mentioned something about her speaking with an ancient race... under an ocean?”

Garrus was slow to look at him. His eyes lingered on the window, the gears in his head turning, before he finally met Victus' gaze.

Upon seeing the troubled look on his face, Victus felt compelled to ask, “Is this something I should be concerned about?”

“To be honest... I don't know,” Garrus answered slowly, which would have sparked Victus' suspicion, but his sub-harmonics sang with honesty. Still, Garrus' answer left him feeling troubled. Victus remained silent, fixing Vakarian with the kind of stare that required no words for itsmeaning: Elaborate.

“ _It's the final countdown!”_ the singer blared from his speaker.

“What's our ETA?” Garrus asked. The question resulted with Victus' hands moving to the dash to input the command to decelerate the car.

“I can stretch it to forty minutes.”

Garrus sighed, expressing his clear distaste for the subject. He then reached for a dial on the dashboard, turning the music off. Now, with only the low hum of the engine to accompany his voice, Garrus began his story.

“It all started on the Citadel...”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shortness. I had one more segment planned for this chapter, but it would take me longer to get the chapter out and it's already Sunday afternoon at the time of writing this. Still, I hope you enjoyed the lighter nature of this chapter. Again, thank you for all the kudos, reviews, and simply coming back to keep reading. Posting each chapter is such a highlight to my week. :)


	9. Chapter 9

The skycar began its decent at 17:06. The bright golden sunset served as a brilliant background for the turians who looked up and watched from the ground below. They viewed the car come in for its landing with what looked like a stack of perceaclops fastened to the top. What they didn't know yet was that the person sitting in the driver'sseat was their Primarch.

Victus sat like a statue in his seat. He had been like that for several minutes, having yet to recover from the information bomb Garrus had just dropped in his lap. The thought that these... Leviathans were still out there and that they are a complete unknown was troubling news indeed.

Garrus explained that he had wanted to inform him of this news when they had first discovered it, but he and Commander Shepard hadn't done so until roughly a week before the final battle on Earth. Communications had become extremely difficult at the best of times and Garrus did not see a reason to prioritize this information over everything else they were already dealing with. Garrus had also, rather hesitantly, admitted how preoccupied his mind had been during that final week. Commander Shepard's run-in with the Leviathans had proven to be an immense strain on her body. Thatwas what left her weak and sick for a short time, as he observed in that footage.

During the war the Leviathans were not a threat. Now, Victus couldn't be sure. He wondered if he should act now. Strike first before they did. Was it even a possibility? What would be the repercussions if he did so and he was wrong? What would be the repercussions if he did nothing?

Victus had been so busy processing this information that it wasn't until the car was halfway into its descent that he remembered why they were here in the first place. He peered out his window to watch tiny upturned faces grow larger in the sunset light. His people, a joint mixture of construction workers and volunteers, stood among both wreckage and recovery as they slowly rebuilt their city. Those that no longer had homes to return tohad set up tents in the streets and in the broken buildings.

Now Victus felt himself sitting like a statue for a very different reason.

Anxiety twisted a knot in his gut, repelling his eyes from the window and redirecting them to his rear-view mirror to observe his face in his reflection. Dark splotches of blood could be seen on his plates that he hadn't bothered to clean. He frowned as he looked closely at his nasal plating. He could still make out the evidence of Garrus' fist meeting his face in the form of the slightly raised plating, an indication of swelling in turians.

He's about to make a public appearance as his people's Primarch and he was going to look like shit while doing so. He didn't consider himself to be a vain person and he was never one to shy away from blood and grime, but this was different. This wasn't the outcome of a mission that got a little messy. This is the result of showing up unprepared. It could be taken as a slight, as if he didn't care enough about their approval to put any stock in his appearance.

He couldn't remember ever feeling this insecure of his physical appearance in his life. In his previous career, while a certain amount of decorum was expected of him, what his face looked like didn't matter. He could report in, covered in dirt and blood, but as long as the mission was complete, his superiors were content. At least to his face. The amount of shit they talked aboutin reference to his unorthodox methods when his back was turned wasn't lost on him. The fact was, he simply didn't care. He didn't _have_ to care. The mission was complete with as many lives spared and his platoon still looked upon him with trust and approval. He could happily live with that.

This wasn't the military life he had been raised with. He was never groomed for politics and he certainly didn't feel like a Primarch. In his mind he was still a general, except now he was a general who had to worry about public approval, his physical appearance, and bullshit platitudes.

He gingerly prodded at his nasal plating, wishing that the swelling would simply vanish under his touch. With his thumb and finger still applying pressure to his face, he glanced sideways at his assailant and deadpanned, “Youjust _had_ to punch the Primarch of Palaven in the face.”

Garrus looked at him, clearly affronted, and retorted with, “I wouldn't have if the Primarch of Palaven-” his voice grew “-didn't blow my damn door down!”

Victus didn't have time to argue the semantics of what, in his opinion, was a well-executedplan. At least the clothes he had on were clean, having been tucked away in his car while they hunted. There wasn't much he could do to salvage his face. The perceaclops blood had seeped into the cracks of his plates and would require his stiff-wire brush and a hot shower to scour out. For a second he entertained the thought of aborting the mission, but he dismissed that thought quickly. It would be cruel to bring food within eyesight of hungry,homeless people and then take off with it. No. He was in too deep to back out now.

 _'Maybe if I get out casually, they won't recognize me.'_ His eyes roamed over the ever-common Palaven facial tattoos adorning his face. It was possible, but he sincerely doubted it.

They were now fifteen seconds from touchdown. Victus drew in a deep breath, ignoring the chime of the VI's voice as it informed him of his location. When he took his eyes off the mirror to glance at Garrus, he found him staring with a curious look on his face.

“What?” Victus asked.

“Nothing. It's just... I've never seen you look so-um... nervous.”

“Damn right I'm nervous.” Victus snapped, with slightly more force than he had intended.

Garrus looked away from him in favor of the carpet at his feet. “I didn't mean anything by it,” he explained, sounding a little embarrassed. “It's just that... I've seen you do things like charge down a brute armed with only a shotgun. When you see someone do that, it's hard to imagine them getting nervous over public speaking.”

Victus emitted an exacerbated sigh. He closed his eyes and tilted his face up toward the skycar's ceiling, thankful for the tinted windows.

“It's not that," he explained. "I'm supposed to take care of these people and here they are working and hungry while I'm on a hunting trip. To them, I'm just like any other politician out to buy their favor with bribes when they're most desperate. This was a stupid idea.”

“Hey.” Victus was surprised when he heard a comforting hum emit from Garrus' sub-harmonics. He was _more_ surprised when he felt a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. Victus opened his eyes at the touch and met Garrus' blue gaze. “From what I hear, you've been working your ass off for them since day one, Victus. Even my dad thinks so, and you know how hard he is to impress.” Garrus snorted a laugh and then continued with, “Everyone deserves a little down time, even the Primarch of Palaven. Hell, your down timestill consisted of working for them. Who knows when they last had something to eat other than ration bars. Now their Primarch is flying in with a feast just for them. Call it a hunch, but I don't think they're going to care how you look.” The car finally touched down and Garrus went on to say, “You're doing fine, Adrien.” Garrus had never addressed him by his first name until then. “I'm right behind you,” he added, flicking a mandible into a small, but genuine smile.

' _I'm right behind you,'_ he'd said. Those four, seemingly insignificant words, had such an unexpected impact on him. There was a comfort in them that Victus didn't know he needed, _craved_ even. He was left feeling oddly floored at the thought. Suddenly, he was blindsided with the revelation of just how lonely he felt... had felt, since having to leave his platoon behind on Menae. To realize he had someone watching his back again was a solace he couldn't begin to put words to.

_'Perhaps I'm not the friend Garrus needed. Maybe he's the friend I needed.'_

He nodded, allowing his sub-harmonics to resonate the depths of his gratitude. Feeling slightly bolstered, he activated the hatch, Garrus following suit, and the two stepped out of the car into the gathering crowd.

Victus looked upon a sea of dirty faces, pinning him to the side of his car with their stares. Some, he noticed, were critical, but most shone with curiosity. Nonetheless, he knew exactly how trapped and at their mercy he was.

He turned away from them, instead focusing on unloading the bodies from the top of his car with Garrus' help. It was a welcome distraction from the claustrophobic feeling that settled on him, but he could still feel the hundreds of eyes focused like a laser dot on the back of his head. Once the straps had loosened, he grabbed a hind leg and pulled the animal at the top of the pile from the vehicle and slung it across his shoulders. He took a couple seconds to adjust to the weight and build his courage before he turned back to the crowd and asked, “Where do you want them?”

An eruption of murmurs rippled around him at the question as individuals turned to their neighbors, sharing their thoughts on the scene in front of him.

“Over here will due, sir!” It was a very elderly turian who called out above the crowd, waving his datapad to further draw attention. He had separated himself from the mass or maybe he had never joined it, to stand by a long duracretebench, molded into the sidewalk. A rug had been draped over it, like a table cloth, and the bench had been used as a makeshift table to keep water bottles and ration bars on. The old turian, easily fifty or sixty years Victus' senior, began the arduous task of removing the hundreds of bottles and ration bars from the bench. The outer edges of the crowd trickled away to help him.

Victus felt Garrus move up behind him, a perceaclops slung over his own shoulders. With Garrus close behind, he moved toward the crowd and watched as it parted readily for him. His eyes settled on the bench in front of him, a focal point to ignore what felt like thousands of eyes watching him.

“Is that the Primarch?” He heard that question echo around him. He kept moving.

“He looks like him...”

“That's definitely Garrus Vakarian.”

"He was the Primarch's most trusted advisor.”

“It _is_ the Primarch!”

Somewhere beneath the tempestuous sea of anxiety that raged in his mind, a small voice whispered. _'Of course Vakarian would be recognized first.'_

He then found himself surrounded by a litany of “Garrus Vakarian” and “Primarch Victus” as their names echoed throughout the mass of turians.

Victus was reminded of the speech he gave while on Earth, and how uneasy he felt then. He calculated the stress of this current situation about five-fold that of his speech he had made all those weeks ago. On Earth, he was addressing active duty soldiers, something he had done hundreds of times in his career. While just about every turian around him had likely served their required amount to the military, they were civilians now, as far as the term goes for turians. Struggling civilians that looked upon him and saw a corrupt politician. A very vulnerable and outnumbered corrupt politician. He was completely at their mercy and they knew it.

And then someone reached out and touched his left shoulder as he passed. It was all he could do to keep himself from dropping his heavy burden and bolting through the crowd. And then he felt another touch followed by a third, fourth, fifth, then countless talontips brushed his arms and shoulders as he walked. He chanced a glance behind him and saw that they were doing the same to Garrus as he walked.

The look on the younger turian's face was one of pure shock. Victus could see his thought process reflecting in those blue eyes as Garrus met his gaze.

_'Disgraced ex-cop, lifted to paragon.'_

Victus turned his attention away from Garrus and forced himself to seethe faces of the people who reached out and touched him. Each pair of eyes he looked into mirrored a different emotion: Grief, fatigue, relief... Joy.

From starting out as utterly terrifying to him, this event had evolved into what he would consider the most humbling experience of his life. In fact, he felt ashamed at himself for having ever been afraid of these people. _His_ people. Garrus was correct. They didn't care how he looked any more than he cared how they looked. He searched scarred and cracked faces, smeared with mud and dusted with dirt and powdered concrete, but they all looked upon him and Garrus almost reverently. While their eyes showed different feelings in their depths, their sub-harmonics sang an emotion they all shared:Hope.

He was surrounded by beauty and he was both humbled and privileged to serve it.

 _'Did you ever feel this way, Fedorian?'_ How he wished he could ask him.

He wondered if the former Primarch had even gotten the chance to. If perhaps the feeling was only granted to Victus because, unlike his predecessors before him that reigned over utopias, he was handed a dystopia. It was like an ever-turning wheel with Primarch after Primarch simply maintaining order; the status quo. When his spoke reached the top of the wheel, the status quo layin ashes before him, leaving nothing for him to maintain.

Only rebuild.

When he reached his destination, he deposited his burden on the surface. He then stepped aside for Garrus to do the same. Then a woman carrying the third carcass approached as well. Her mandibles rose in a grateful smile that she directed at both of them before leaving to rejoin the crowd.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He and Garrus had been invited to stay and join the workers in their feast. At first, the Primarch kept up appearances. He would smile politely at the jokes and make light conversation, but the longer he sat amongst them, he became comfortable enough to slide the Primarch persona off like a suit and sit with them as simply Adrien. Instead of merely smiling, he laughed with them. He tapped his foot to the beat of the music with them. He drank with them. He ate with them.

He got to know them and they got to know him, at least a little.

He would learn that the elderly turian with the datapad was actually retired GeneralRomulus Tarix. He served decades ago, when Adrien first enlisted at the age of fifteen. He had never met him, as he retired a few years later, shortly before the Relay 314 Incident. Adrien was twenty-two at the time.

By nightfall, he was sitting with Romulus on the duracretebench, watching the workers eat their fill of their unexpected meal, thoroughly enjoying themselves. From where he sat, he could see Garrus sitting by one of several fires. The light danced across his plates while he told a story that had several children enthralled at his feet, as well as a few clearly interested ladies that watched from the side.

“Thank you, Primarch,” said Romulus, his voice weighted with age. Adrien redirected his attention from the fireside story going on in front of him to Romulus' heavily worn face.

He smiled at the elder turian and said, “It was my pleasure, General.”

Romulus shook his head slowly.

“No. Not just for this,” he raised a hand, gesturing to the scene around them. “For taking up the title, for seeing us through... for returning.”

Adrien felt his smile falter as confusion etched itself across his features. “I was simply performing my duties, General.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but I don't think you realize how bad it was before you returned. Those water bottles for example-” he pointed at the cases of water that had been moved from the very bench they sat on “-We didn't have any of those for months. We had no security. No power. Still, we worked because that's what we do. The fighting had ceased for months but it wasn't until you returned that... the war was truly over.”

Romulus looked up, seeking Adrien's gaze as he finished with, “You mean so much to these people and you've lifted their spirits higher than I've ever seen.” He smiled at the ground, shaking his head softly with evident disbelief. “In all my years, I never thought I'd see Palaven-born and Separatists working so closely together, but you've given them something to unite under. You give them hope in their grief... despite your own.”

Adrien felt his face melt into a frown at the old turian's final sentence. _His_ grief was not something he wanted to talk about. He felt the Primarch step in, putting on his well-worn impassive mask to hide his frown and said, “My grief expands to that of all my people. Not just my own.”

The old man nodded his head with what appeared to be a knowing look on his face. He then went quiet. His slightly clouded eyes looked on and watched the mini-celebrationsgoing on at the various campfire spots. He seemed to lose interest in Victus, but by the way his mandibles periodically twitched, Victus knew that he was simply thinking of something else to say.  
“My grandson served in the Ninth Platoon with your son.”

Victus had to struggle to keep his face stoic. It was difficult to do after Romulus' words crashed into him like a charging krogan. He maintained an air of cold professionalism, using it as an excuse not to speak because, in truth, he didn't trust himself.

“The news was delivered to me because I am the sole-surviving member of my family.” Victus watched as the old weathered face changed. His mandibles pinched into his jaw and his darkened eyes sought solace in the ground. His aged voice wavered when he uttered, “Forgive me, Primarch. I-I just... know the pain you're feeling and yet you push on despite it. I just wanted you to know... ”

And the old man trailed off. A mournful keen took the place where his words would have been.

Adrien didn't think when his hand raised to squeeze the old man's shoulder reassuringly and he didn't stop to consider when he pressed his brow against his. He didn't flinch when the old man began to shake with grief and pressed back against his brow in his attempt to cease the tremors that racked his body. Adrien just sat and waited, sharing their mutual loss because this man had no one else.

“Spirits go with you, Primarch Victus,” was the last thing he said when Adrien and Garrus took their leave later in the evening. It was on the flight home when Adrien glanced at Garrus only to find the younger turian watching him, his face reflective.

Adrien trilled his curiosity and Garrus obliged him with, “I was just thinking that this career change might suit you after all, Victus.”

Adrien huffed a laugh and returned his gaze to the airstrip. For the very first time since hearing the words, _'you're the new Primarch,'_ he agreed.

  
  


* * *

 

Adrien awoke the next morning feeling better than he had in months. The time he spent with his people the night before had proven to be the therapy he didn't know he needed. When he'd thought of the idea to surprise the workers with something truly substantial to eat, he did so thinking it was for _their_ benefit; a booster shot in the arm to lift their spirits. He never thought of how much it would lift his own. Though, he saw it as more than that.He viewed it more as a defibrillator plate to his chest, jump-starting his heart and bringing him back to life.

The phrase, “his people,” was no longer an umbrella term used to describe the masses he's responsible for. Now the masses in his mind had begun to separate into individuals, wearing their own face, trilling their own sounds, owning their own names. They labored, they laughed, they grieved, they danced, and they smiled around mouthfuls of greasy meat; all things he had known before, but somehow the knowledge had become stark.

He sat up and moved to climb out of his comfortable turian bed, rounded and sunken into the floor. He rose up, feeling revitalized and eager to get back to work.

Adrien's living-room and kitchen were attached. He had a hallway that ran perpendicular with the living area, acting as a dividerfor his bedroom and bathroom. His bathroom had two entrances, a door attached to the hallway for guest use and a door opening to his bedroom for his use. His apartment was bigger than Garrus' but not by much. It was a modest setup especially when compared to the lifestyles of Primarchs before him. Supposedly Fedorian lived a fairly simple life outside of work, but even he indulged in lavishes here and there. He kept his apartment lightly furnished compared to his old home and Adrien imagined that it would remain that way for some time. He was a man of necessities and hated junk, preparing to keep his space open and uncluttered. He liked being able to move and he credited that to his, he'd admit, slight paranoia of falling under attack and having nowhere to maneuver. Most of the furniture at his old home had been the result of years of accumulation between himself and Magrim and then later, Tarquin. He also had no windows, which was how he liked it, knowing no sniper could blast his head off as he moved through his home.

As Adrien moved into his unassuming kitchen, he couldn't help but compare it to his previous onethat once stood in his house. His old kitchen received very little attention, looking very much likehis current kitchen, until Tarquin grew old enough to practice cooking. Then he lovingly tended to it like Adrien would tend to the tools in his workshop. He kept the walls and counters spotless and he'd save his credits to buy fancy bottles to hold various spices and expensive cookware that hung gleaming from the walls between their uses. When his interest in cooking evolved into a passion, Adrien started to gradually add to the kitchen when he'd buy pricey cutlery or new appliances for each of Tarquin's birthdays. By the time Tarquin enlisted at the age of fifteen, their kitchen had become the most furnished room in their house.

As Adrien reached into a cupboard that contained nothing but ration bars of various flavors, his eyes fell on his empty sink. Empty, not because of any cleanliness on his part, but because all he ate these days wereration bars and dry nutrient squares. He smiled as it tugged at a tendril of a memory, pulling it to the forefront of his brain. During times when Tarquin was deployed and he was home alone, he remembered often forgetting his son was gone until he'd spot the growing pile of dishes in the morning, something that never happened when his son was home. They were the result of him heating up pre-cooked and frozen meals Tarquin would always prepare for him before leaving.

Now, he didn't have any prepared meals creating any kind of mess to sit for days in his sink. He frowned as his hands slowly ripped open the wrapper of his morning ration bar. He stuffed the whole thing in his mouth and, as he chewed, he reached for a second cupboard, containing only three mugs, four plates, and six bowls. His clawed hand curled around the first plate he saw and he withdrew it from the cupboard. Before he left the kitchen to begin his day, he placed the perfectly clean, unused plate in the sink.

 

* * *

 

It was 06:50when he strolled into his large office. As he walked through the door, he immediately sensed something off about the dim room. Cautiously, he moved through the open space, glancing around until he spotted the source of his unease at a short desk against the far wall. His posture relaxed when his eyes fell on the suited form of Han Carlo, hunched over his desk. As Victus approached his assistant, he became increasingly aware that he was asleep at his desk.

Victus frowned and quietly crept around the volus to get a look at his computer screen. The computer screen had an article, written in a volus language, open on the screen and as Victus carefully reached around his assistant to further explore what he was doing, he discovered other tabs of a similar nature. His translator deciphered the lettering, allowing him to see that the nature of the articles were all economic. His curiosity melted into shame when he took in stacks of data-pads around the volus' lowered head, calculations filling their screens. Some of them had notes pertaining to various financial problems, including the V.F.I act that he'd promised to look into.

As he listened to the volus' soft, ventilated snores, he couldn't fight the guilt that welled within him. As he glanced down at the sleeping man, exhausted from the long hours he had been putting in, he began to remember all the times he had felt irritation towards him. Every sigh he had suppressed at every inconvenient suggestion uttered with his breathy, nasally voice. How easy it was for Adrien to forget that Palaven was not only _his_ home, but it was Han's as well. The volus was just as passionate about saving it as he was.

Adrien lightly rested his hand on the volus' back and gave him a soft nudge.

“Han,” he said quietly, using just a hint of authority in his voice.

He had tried to be gentle, but it was in vain because the volus jerked up with a surprised snort. The orange of his illuminated opticals winked on and off several times as the volus took in Victus' much larger frame.

“Primarch Victus!” He wheezed with sleep-slurred speech. “I wasn't- I was only-” He began to stammer, but stopped when Adrien raised an open hand, indicating both silence and calm.

“Easy, Han.” Victus' frown deepened. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long, Primarch,” he breathed in and out. “Just long enough to...” and he trailed off as Adrien ignored him in favor of checking the time stamp from the earliest opened tab for his answer.

Fourteen hours ago. He had been sitting here for fourteen hours.

While Adrien had been running around in the woods with his friend and enjoying music and fireside steaks with the workers, this man had been slaving over his desk. He pushed himself to exhaustion as he sought drops of financial answers to fill in all the holes that are Palaven's problems. Adrien had been so preoccupied with helping Garrus and motivating his people that he had completely forgotten about the people who strive to make his job a little easier. General Victus would have never made that mistake with the men serving in his platoon and Han deserved no less.

 _'I bet Fedorian was kinder to him than I've been,'_ he winced at the thought.

“Go on home, Han. Take the rest of the day,” Victus said.

Han stared up at him, his optical lights blinked once, which was Victus' only gauge for the man's mysterious expression.

“I suppose I could use a break,” he slowly wheezed through the vents of his suit. Then Han seemed to remember something as he turned his attention back to his desk and began rooting around through the stacks of datapads.

“I almost forgot,” he said as he found the datapad he'd been searching for. Adrien took it from his small, offering hand. “I think I know how we can get the V.F.I going again.”

As Victus' amber eyes flickered back and forth across the screen, he felt his mandibles lift into a smile. When he hadfinished reading Han's notes, he turned his grin on the volus, hoping he was able to recognize his expression for what it was. “This is brilliant, Han. Well done.”

Victus had to suppress the urge to flinch when he heard the slightly surprised gasp at his -what he was rapidly realizing was rare- praise.

“Th-thank you, sir,” Han stammered, furthering Victus' already dwindling opinion of himself into blacker depths.

 _'I'm officially the biggest piece of shit on Palaven,'_ he thought privately while simultaneously resisting the urge to raise his hand and cover his eyes in shame.

“Oh!” Han gasped, suddenly remembering something else he had forgotten. “Urdnot Wrex called for you from Earth. He requested that you contact him at your earliest convenience.”

“'My earliest convenience'?” Victus asked, his tone skeptical at the choice of words.

“Well,” he breathed in and out. “Perhaps those weren't exactly his words but I'd rather not repeat what he said.” Victus snorted. Now he was more inclined to believe that it was Wrex that had called him.

“One more thing, Primarch,” Han went on. “I read that you and Advisor Vakarian dropped in on the workers and supplied them with food last night.”

“That was fast,” Victus commented.

“News always is,” Han admitedwith a nod as he passed the Primarch a second datapad with a detailed news report. “Your popularity was high before, but now I'd say you're right on par with Fedorian.”

Now that bit of news surprised him. For Han Carlo to put Victus on par with Fedorian on anything was probably the highest praise he was ever going to get from the volus.

_'Perhaps this is an opportunity for Han and me to come to a better understanding.'_

“I'll admit, I was initially... concerned with the type of publicity you would pull once returning here.”

 _'Well that lasted long,'_ he sarcastically thought to himself.

“But I'm glad to see that I shouldn't have been. You seem to do well with the public and, judging by the numbers, you are wellreceived by them.”

Victus chuckled before asking, with a humorous tone, “You were worried about what kind of publicity stunt I'd pull?”

Han did not verbally respond. Instead, he turned his suited face up, the lights of his opticals shone unblinkingly. By the way he wordlessly held his stare, Victus deduced that he was currently on the receiving end of the driest look a volus had ever mustered.

  
  


* * *

 

Victus had waited until Han had left and Solana had entered for her first day of work. He watched as she took her seat at her new desk, looking like the epitome of professionalism, but judging the way her mandibles periodically fluttered, she was absolutely giddy with excitement. Her desk had been set up close to the communication chamber. Once her computer was powered on and linked with the comm network, Solana made a _go-ahead_ gesture with her hand and Victus stepped into the cylindrical chamber. He waited for the curved door to shut behind him, leaving him alone in the dimly-lit, sound-proof room. Outside the compartment, Solana placed the call into Wrex while Victus waited.

After several seconds, Wrex's wide, grizzled face appeared in holographic form in front of him, having taken the call from his omni-tool. On the other side, Victus knew he was being projected as a minuscule holo version of himself, standing on Wrex's arm.

“There he is! How goes the Primarch business, Victus?” Wrex's deep baritone voice boomed.

“Wrex, I trust you're in a safe, _private_ location for this conversation.”

“Nice to see you too.”

“Wrex.”

“Quit your worrying! It's private enough.”

“A bar doesn't count.”

Wrex growled. “I'm not in a bar! I'm in about as private a place as I can get while I'm stuck on this planet.”

“That bad, huh? Is it still snowing?” Victus asked.

Wrex laughed. “Ah, seeing you turians snivel in your boots at the cold,” and his lips peeled back in a toothy grin, amused at his own thoughts. “No, but things have gotten weird around here. You turians are lucky you checked out when you did.”

“How so?” Victus asked, his brow plate pressing down in mild concern.

“Probably nothing I should talk about here.” A large three-fingered hand rose to wave his dismissal. “Honestly I just called to check in on the krogan there. Any bloodshed?”

“Not yet, but relations are... tense.” Wrex nodded, which gave Victus the distinct impression that he was expecting that answer.

“What have you done about it?” Wrex asked.

Victus sighed, allowing his frustration at the situation to seep into the released breath.

“To avoid bloodshed between our peoples, I've put in an order to leave them alone until procedures are in order to get them home. At that point, we'll-”

“Stop right there,” Wrex growled. To Victus' surprise, he sounded angry or maybe that was... concern. “You're telling me you've done nothing? You _'left them alone?'_ ” He had asked in a tone that conveyed his apparent disbelief.

Victus felt his mandibles pinch to his jaw as he frowned, not understanding the krogan's dismay.

“Victus, you couldn't have made things more difficult for yourself if you tried,” he said with a slow, grave shake of his head.

The Primarch's eyes narrowed at the holographic krogan head, but remained quiet. Wrex took his silence as acquiesce to elaborate.

“Day one you should have marched in there and established yourself as the one in charge, not simply leave them alone and hope they'll behave themselves. That's not how we think. It's a wonder nothing has come of it yet, but you can bet your ass it won't last. They'll start pushing, first each other, to see who is the highest among them and that alone is going to cause some damage. Trust me, you don't want it to escalate beyond that.”

Victus was suddenly taken back to the pub on Earth, hearing Wrex express his hopes of the krogan obtaining a seat on the Council.He remembered feeling troubled at that statement and then immediately ashamed for having done so. He now found himself rethinking his feelings on the subject, that maybe he was not initially wrong to feel the way he did. Maybe curing the genophage _was_ a mistake.

Victus forced his hands to loosen, unaware when he had clenched them into fists at his sides, and he fixed Wrex with an aggravated look. This was not something he needed. Just when he had taken an upswing at this whole Primarch business, a krogan comes along and slams him back down.

 _'And now one will probably end up doing so,_ _literally,'_ he thought darkly. Another deep sigh escaped him as he tried to smother the turmoil that boiled inside him, and asked the old krogan, “How do you suggest I handle this, Wrex?”

“Krogan respect strength above all else,” immediately replied Wrex. “And you need to prove yours if you want them to listen to you. And yes, it has to be _you_. No sending an envoy on your behalf or whatever _hands-off_ method you turians prefer.”

“This wasn't necessary during the war,” Victus felt the need to point out.

“Of course not. They had something to fight back then, didn't they?Now that they're sitting idle and without structure...” Wrex trailed off, allowing Victus to fill in the blanks for his unsaid words.

“I hope you're not suggesting that I walk in there with my shotgun and start shooting,” Victus drawled. Wrex tilted his head back and guffawed at his comment.

“No, no,” he explained once he'd stifled his laughter. “You want them to respect you, not piss 'em off.” Wrex paused to stare fixedly at Victus' form. He got the impression that the old krogan was sizing him up.

“You're scrawny,” he finally said. “But tall and your plates'll help.”

Victus snorted, feeling the tension in his gullet ebb slightly.

“It's not often I'm called 'scrawny,'” he mused aloud. To his surprise, Wrex smiled at his retort.

“Ah, don't be too hard on yourself. Everyone's scrawny compared to me,” and he flashed a giant smile, proudly showcasing all his flat teeth.

“All right, Wrex. How do you propose I handle this show of strength with my scrawny self?” He asked, hearing his own smile emit in his voice.

“Simple. You approach the biggest, meanest one there and give him a good ol' fashion krogan headbutt.”

Victus' brain had to reboot.

“What?” was his oh-so-Primarchal response.

“You heard me, Victus. You look him dead in the eye and slam your brow into his!” Wrex coached with a voice that hinted at years of experience doing such things. “There's no clearer message to a krogan who's in charge than that.”

“I can't believe this,” Victus said more to himself as his hand rose to pinch his nasal plates in irritation.

He wasn't looking at Wrex when he heard him say, “Shepard did it,” but he could hear the pride in his voice. “And she didn't have plates to protect that squishy human skull either. Ask Garrus. He was there.”

The thought of Commander Shepard, with her tiny human body, slamming her head against the plated skull of an eight-hundred-pound krogan was ludicrous indeed. Though, that didn't mean he had any trouble believing it and the thought served to bolster him slightly.

“Bring Garrus with you. He'll know what to do. That boy should be able to speak krogan by now after spending so much time with Grunt and me.”

“I'll be sure to ask him.”

Wrex nodded.

“I should get going now. But I'm...” and he broke off, his eyes peering out from that old, haggard face to level Victus with a contemplative gaze. After several seconds, he continued. “I'm counting on you, Victus. This is something you have to do for your safety... as well as theirs.”

Absurdly, Victus suddenly felt a small surge of affection toward his krogan acquaintance. Perhaps he _had_ grown more accustomed to him than he initially thought.

“Wrex,” he said before he could end the call. “It was nice seeing you too.”

He could have sworn he heard the krogan mutter something about soft-plated turians before he ended the connection. His tone was not completely unkind.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“I'm sorry, Wrex told you what?” Garrus asked him the next day. He gave Victus a sideways glance as the two made their way down the street toward the krogan compound.

“That you should be able to speak krogan by now,” Victus elucidated.

“Huh. Funny, no one told me I could.”

“He also mentioned a time that Commander Shepard headbutted a krogan.” That caused a smile to break across Garrus' face and he huffed a laugh.

“She did when one on Tuchanka was being rude to her. He got back in line quickly after that and she won favor with the village shaman as a result. Then we were rewarded with the honor of fighting a thresher mawon foot.”

Adrien turned his head to regard his companion fully. “Vakarian, if you had uttered that string of words at me a year ago, I would have immediately written you off as a madman,” he stated and Garrus' huff of laughter grew into an audible chuckle.

"You believe it now though, don't you?" Garrus asked, clearly already knowing his answer.

"Unfortunately," he responded, his tone a mockery of _faux_ regret.

As they neared the compound, the two turians quieted. The increasingly-familiar sensation of anxiousness coiled in Adrien's stomach and, by the agitated twitch of Garrus' mandibles, he could tell his fellow turian was feeling it too. As they approached, they both peered up at the mismatched scaffolding, plywood boards and duracrete blocks that effectively barricaded the large occupants within from view of the city around them.

“You sure about this?” Victus heard Garrus ask while his eyes remained fixed on the compound's entrance. Without looking at him, he only gave a curt nod as his answer.

Remembering one of the songs Garrus had played for him in the skycar, he began to hear the tune from _The Final Countdown_ playing in his head.

Heads held high, they strode into the krogan lair.  
  
  


 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adrien's father's words at the beginning of this chapter is actually a quote by George S. Patton. I found it and felt it was fitting for the beginning segment of this chapter.
> 
> Also, there's a bit of a time-jump in this chapter. This story is winding down and I'm predicting five more installments. I was hoping to finish it before Andromeda's release, but I doubt that's going to happen at this point. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, leaving kudos and commenting. :)

Adrien's father had taught him: “The time to take counsel of your fears is before you make an important battle decision. That's the time to listen to every fear you can imagine! When you have collected all the facts and fears and made your decision, turn off all your fears and go ahead.”   
  
Those words had always stuck with Victus throughout his military career, but more so when he was promoted to general. They were words he did his best to live by and when Tarquin came of age, he would learn them too

 _'Did you think of them before you made your call, Tarquin?'_ He would never know.

As Adrien and Garrus put a whole meter between themselves and the exit at their backs, Victus found himself thinking those words now. Each and every krogan around them had the ability to cave in his exposed skull with one well-placed punch.  
  
_'And none of them look happy to see me.'_

All around him, krogan ceased movement, pausing whatever task they had been performing to watch the two evidently suicidal turians enter their domain. Adrien didn't have to look to know that hundreds of eyes had narrowed with suspicion on Garrus and himself. There was no mistaking the collective viewpoint on their visit. It was an intrusion.  
  
Victus ignored them. All of them. Instead, he and Garrus zeroed in on the first steel crate they saw and made their way toward it. They made sure to keep their stride relaxed and calm, as if strolling through a park and not through the potential death ring that they were. A symphony of aggressive grunts and growls erupted from the choir of living tanks as Adrien and Garrus began to root through the metal box as if to take stock of its contents. They would exchange quiet comments on the items they found like they were of some crucial significance and, most importantly, as if they _owned_ it.   
  
“We could use this drill gun,” Garrus commented, but his sub-harmonics deciphered a message only Victus could understand. _  
_ _“They really don't look happy,”_ they whispered.   
  
“We'll take this soldering iron too,” he replied, but his own sub-harmonics sang,   
_“I know.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Garrus nodded his understanding and said, “kind of a shitty brand, but it'll do.”   
_“You know, we could die in here.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “It'll have to.”   
_“I know.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Garrus withdrew the soldering iron and drill gun and set them aside. He then reached inside for an extension cord and commented, “We'll take this too.”   
_“After everything that's happened, dying in a smelly krogan holdout wasn't how I thought I'd go.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Can never have enough extension cords.”   
_“You can still leave. Run now and you might make it.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Enough _good_ extension cord, you mean. This one's clearly seen better days,” and he wadded the mass of cord and threw it callously aside.   
_“And be known as the turian that left the Primarch to die? Not a chance.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Despite the situation, a smile tugged at Adrien's mandibles as he continued to rifle through the crates contents.   
  
“Now this one. Much better.” Garrus pulled up a second extension cord that had been coiled neatly at the bottom of the box.   
_“Looks like one's coming over.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “I know,” both of his vocals spoke. _  
_   
As he anticipated, one lone, big krogan separated himself from his agitated brethren and stomped his way toward the two turians. One quick glance was all that was needed to recognize the intentional show of strength and sheer size the krogan was putting on as he did so. As he grew closer, Victus decided that the word, 'big', was not accurate enough to describe him. He was absolutely massive.

The crown of plates protecting his skull shown a deep rust color in the afternoon sunlight and the hide of his face was colored a light shade of brown. A pair of yellow eyes, set in a scarred, grizzly face burned holes into the two turians as he grew ever nearer, quaking the ground slightly with each step.  
  
_'Wrex did say to find the biggest, meanest male. This must be my man.'_

Before he'd even set foot in there, he had a rough plan of action. He generally avoided fighting krogan hand to hand when he could, but this certainly wouldn't be his first tangle with one. In order to have the best chance of survival during such a match up, he would have to make sure that each and every use of his energy counted. In contrast to his tactic, the krogan, Victus knew, need only grab him once. _  
_ _  
_ “Don't think we don't know who you two are,” he growled in a deep baritone that rivaled Wrex's in octave. “And don't, for a minute, think we care.”   
  
At the sound of his voice, The General stepped in and smothered his fear in the same way he would on a battlefield, making him grow cold and detached from the instincts that told him to run. He focused on controlling his breath and not on the hulk of destruction before him or how his heart hammered traitorously against his chest. He spared the krogan a brief, unimpressed look before lifting the crate to his chest. As he moved to pass the krogan for the exit behind him, a large hand rose to bump solidly into the crate, pushing it in against Victus' chest.

As he predicted.  
  
“I don't know where you think you're going with that, _Primarch_ ,” the brute sneered the title. “But that's my crate you're holding.”   
  
_'Turn off all your fears, and go ahead.'_ _  
_ _  
_ Victus didn't need a mirror to know his face gave away nothing. He kept his visage as calm and stoic as he possibly could while he slowly lowered the crate to the ground. He watched for the instant the bottom met the broken street the walls encircling them had been built on. From above, he heard a deep chortle from the mountainous man. Then he noticed his weight shifting, the krogan moving his upper body over Victus' bowed frame, just enough to cast a shadow over him. It was clearly a position to radiate his dominance over the turian leader.   
  
“That's what I thought,” he heard him gloat.   
  
The General had control and he knew how to convert his body into a lethal weapon. A split second was all he needed for his honed muscles to jerk his frame back up, using his lowered position to violently slam the hardest part of his browplate into the soft, unprotected face beneath the krogan's thick, rusty crown. It hurt, but by the way the krogan roared and recoiled, it hurt him even more. Utilizing the kind of quick reflexes only years of experience could harness, the General drew his gun. It twitched toward his opponent's face, the eye being a habitual target, but he reined in his arm, firing a shot right into the middle of the three-toed boot instead.   
  
The krogan's roar turned into something akin to a scream and he raised his arms in an attempt to attack, but pain blinded him. The General dodged two punches that would have caved in his head and then swiftly stepped aside just in time before the mad krogan lowered himself to charge, throwing all eight-hundred-pounds barreling past him. His injured foot would soon start to regenerate, but as it was now, it proved unable to support the man's weight and he buckled after a short distance, catching himself on one knee.

Seeing the krogan lurch and lumber for purchase to pull himself back up, the world blurred at his visual edges as Victus darted towards him before he could succeed. He stepped up behind the downed krogan, making sure to stay out of his reach, to extend his arm down to grasp the krogan's head. He sunk his claws beneath the rim of the krogan's plate where it met his face. In the back of his mind, he recognized that this grab was a common torture tactic used by krogans on turians. The irony was not lost on him.  
  
Victus heaved, yanking the heavy head back to bring the krogan's eyes up to meet the golden sky above before he brought his own head down to collide his browplate into the krogan's face for a second time. He released him quickly and stepped away so as not to get grabbed as the krogan groped at his injured face, orange blood seeping through his hands. With his head still tilted back and only one good foot to use for purchase, the krogan's immense weight was shifted backwards. This upset his center of balance and brought him slumping back onto his hump.

It was only after he'd subdued his opponent did Victus finally notice that none of the krogan around him had moved to help. They just watched with rapt attention on the brawl, eager to see who would come out on top in the end. To them, this wasn't personal. This was simply diplomacy at work. He raised his pistol, which had yet to leave his hand, and leveled it with the back of his opponent's hands as they continued to shield his face.  
  
“ _That_ is my crate,” Victus finally spoke to the krogan. He knew precisely the amount of authority that laced his voice. “ _This_ is my compound. _This_ is my planet. And _you,_ ” he growled, the word leaving his chest wrapped in a deep rumble, “are my guest.”  
  
Victus paused, allowing the echo of his voice to linger between him and his adversary. In the silence, their gazes locked. The krogan's eyes peered from the tops of his shielding hands while Victus' were completely unobscured and sharp in their intensity.  
  
“You will act like it. No longer will you and your brethren shit in buckets and pour it out on the street. This eyesore-” He motioned to the walls around them with his free hand. “-will be torn down by days end because _I_ demand it. Consider yourself, and every krogan here civilians to _my_ empire and you will be treated as such.”  
  
Victus extended a hand to the prone man on the ground, knowing exactly the risk he put himself in by doing so.  
  
“Know that until the day comes when you leave _my_ planet...” and by the look the krogan gave him, he knew it went without saying, but he would anyway. “ _I_ am the Hierarchy. _I_ am your Primarch.”  
  
A deafening silence fell around them. He could feel the hundreds of eyes on them, but he dared not look away from the krogan before him. The seconds ticked by in heartbeats. It must have been around the sixteenth or seventeenth heartbeat when the krogan broke their unblinking stare first. He glanced down at the barrel still aimed closely at his face and then his eyes settled on the turian hand still outstretched and waiting.  
  
Victus didn't move. His eyes watched every muscle twitch of the krogan below him. He knew without looking that his injured foot would already be clotting any second now and then it would only be minutes for it to return to use again. He had his tactic planned out if that happened. He felt ready for anything the krogan would throw at him. Anything, except the huge, toothy grin that broke across the gnarled landscape of the krogan's face, his teeth stained a citrus orange.  
  
“Well, I'll be damned,” he rumbled. “Looks like the Primarch's got a quad after all,” and he reached up and took hold of Victus' offered hand and allowed himself to be helped up.

It wouldn't be until he and Garrus had seated themselves in his car and he got it off the ground that he released the pent-up breath of air he'd been holding in his lungs. He allowed his frame to deflate in his seat as his adrenaline left his body and relief washed over him like a warm shower.

“There it is,” Garrus quipped, as he eyed him expectantly, a slight smirk on his face. “I was wondering how long you'd last. And I must say, Primarch, your face has never looked better.”

Victus' eyes flickered to the mirror to take in his appearance. Orange blood coated his face, obscuring the majority of his tattoos. In some places, the trickles had turned a sickly green color as it mixed with some of his own spent blue blood. He used his finger as a wiper blade to clear some of the blood from his face, wincing when it smarted his overly sensitive nose. Any of the swelling that had gone down after his fight with Garrus was already returning in full force.

He had nothing to offer in response except a short, ragged breath of laughter.

 

* * *

 

The press had a field day.

“This,” Han began, holding up a data pad of the day’s news, “Is what I meant when we discussed publicity stunts.” It was hard to tell if he was upset or pleased. Victus wondered if even the volus knew.  
  
Sure enough, he and Garrus had both been sighted entering and exiting the krogan walls. And of course they zoomed in on his face as they left, making a prominent show of the orange blood that had painted his brow and ran down his face. Scrolling down the datapad, that picture was followed by a clip of the walls crashing down later that evening. There were several more articles on it, some labeling him a reckless warhead, hellbent on dragging Palaven back to the dark ages, but most were positive. Too positive, in Victus' opinion, going as far as to label him a modern-age conquering war hero that enforced peace. One or two, to his chagrin, even went as far as to use the word ' _kaisar_ .' That, he knew, he would hear about when next he would gather with his Hierarchy Advisors.   
  
It would be weeks before news would die down about it and Victus was glad when it finally did. The krogan were moved into better lodgings and were treated as citizens to the empire rather than barely tolerated guests and they seemed to appreciate that. Some still kept to themselves and Victus made sure to check up on them often to make sure they stayed out of trouble. Others branched out and even began to volunteer time to help rebuild. Some even found employment, mostly as heavy laborers.   
  
Most surprising of all was when the krogan he had fought, whom he learned went by Jorgal Naash, put in a formal request to speak with Victus in his office and offered his services as a bodyguard. A ‘krantt’ he called it. Victus was dubious at the offer at first, but seeing as Attilia had returned to her station with the Black Watch and the media was starting to become far more annoying, he reluctantly agreed. However, his tune changed immediately after the first time Naash walked in during the tail-end of a Hierarchy meeting. Weeks later, it would bring a seemingly random smile to Adrien's face when he would remember the comically alarmed expressions on his advisers faces. He recalled the way Trella Mardex leapt to her feet and drew her pistol and even Lucso Saberius' hand stilled its incessant tapping.   
  
_Naash ignored them as he moved toward Victus, the floor thudding loudly under each step he took. He held out a fist and then opened it to present a tiny, crushed electronic device._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Caught some pyjacks trying to stick this bug on your car,” he rumbled._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I hope you didn't hurt them too badly,” Victus responded as he pinched the bug between his thumb and forefinger to dangle the device in front of his eyes to get a better look at it._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Didn't have to,” he grunted, smiling with pride. “They got one look at me and scrammed.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Appreciated.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Victus watched the krogan leave and as he turned his eyes back toward the now downright incredulous faces of his advisers, he grinned and quipped, “Sweet guy.”_

 

* * *

 

With the reenactment of the V.F.I, more businesses began to open, and credits began to circulate again. Slowly but surely, Palaven's economy was dragging itself back up from the financial abyss. As if by reflection of that, the rebuilding efforts of all the major cities quadrupled with the help of the krogan and after two months, Han declared 65% of Cipritine rebuilt. Of course, some cities were irreparable. Whole towns turned to black ash with no other option than to level them and start anew.  
  
Garrus had gotten to work with his Reaper task force, which consisted primarily of new members with the exception of two souls that had survived the war. The relief in Garrus sub-harmonics when he had learned of their survival was palpable. Indeed, he seemed to have bonded with them during their time together leading up to the Reaper invasion. Victus supposed he saw why considering they were one of the few people who believed Garrus about the Reapers when few did and were willing to commit themselves to his command. Together with his task force, they had successfully tracked down dozens of fallen Reapers and continued to find more almost daily.

There were a lot of them.

In addition to his work with his task force, and if his schedule allowed, he began to sit in on some of the Hierarchy meetings. Though Victus suspected that Garrus would ultimately decline his position as next in line in the meritocracy, Victus was glad to see he was at least taking the idea seriously. In the event Garrus did decline, Victus reasoned that he would just bring Castis in instead. He would likely always remember walking beside Garrus after he had sat in on a meeting for the first time. As they made their way down the hall, away from the meeting room, a suppressed chortle pulled Victus' eyes to the younger turian that walked beside him. When Garrus caught his eye, he began to fail in his endeavor to subdue his chuckle, though he continued to try. After making it three-fourths of the way down the corridor, the dam broke and Garrus rolled his head back, laughing boisterously.  
  
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” he gasped out, waving a hand in a mollifying gesture. “I'm just... thinking of how-” he broke off to vent more laughter from his system before continuing, “-my dad would have reacted years ago if someone told him his ne'er-do-well son would be sitting in on a Hierarchy meeting by the time he reached his mid-thirties.”  
  
Victus tried to keep his face straight, but the laughter proved to be too contagious and he felt his mandibles pull into a smile.

 

* * *

 

It was a proud moment when he stood aboard the _Vitaez_ with Garrus and the men and women of his task force, watching the first Reaper they had rocketed out of Palaven's atmosphere and sent it on a collision course with Trebia. It had been the same one he had discovered lying next to the ruins of his old home. They watched for as long as they could through a porthole, but when the Reaper became a tiny speck in the blackness of space, they had to settle for a holographic display that calculated the Reapers movement and when it would enter within range to be destroyed by the star.   
  
The holo was set in a table and as they gathered around it, no one said a word as the blue dot that represented the Reaper grew closer and closer to the white ball that represented Trebia. Even the dreadnought's crew sat motionless in their seats, their eyes locked on their screens to watch their own viewing. The atmosphere was thick with tension, as if they expected the Reaper to suddenly reactivate and save itself. Victus shuddered at the thought.   
  
It didn't. In reality, the display was unimpressive. It was as simple as the blue dot existing one moment and then blinking out the next, but the impact it had on Victus left him gripping the edge of the table, a heavy sigh of relief escaping him. It was as if Trebia had acted on behalf of the lifeforms that evolved around it, taking sweet revenge on an enemy that dared to threaten them. How he wished he could have watched it disintegrate up close.   
  
He glanced up and found Garrus reacting in a similar way, but where Victus found triumph, Garrus found grief. His eyes were closed and his head hung in a way that made Victus think he was giving his own silent eulogy. By the tightness of his throat, he could tell that he was suppressing his sub-vocals, keeping them from singing the dirge. Of course he knew it wasn't for the Reaper. He didn't need to ask who it was for.   
  
Later, Victus would find him in the forward battery, sitting alone on a crate with a half empty bottle in his hand. He looked up at him as he entered, obviously drunk, but Victus was pleased to see no trace of cloudiness in his eyes.   
  
“Hey,” The younger turian greeted without an ounce of formality. He was simply a man greeting an old friend and not a soldier addressing a Primarch, which Adrien was thankful for. He grabbed a crate for himself and dragged it over to Garrus, positioning it beside him before sitting down.   
  
“Willing to share some of that?” Adrien asked and Garrus wordlessly passed the bottle to him. He took one gulp, relishing the feeling of fire in his throat before he passed it back to Garrus and waited quietly. He occupied his mind by playing the holographic sun swallowing up the tiny Reaper dot like a vid on repeat over and over again. After several minutes, his patience was rewarded as Garrus decided to speak.   
  
“Sorry. I didn't mean to drag the mood down back there. It's just... it wasn't what I anticipated.” He took another swig from the bottle, pausing to map out his words before continuing. “I guess I expected to feel happy or triumphant, but... I didn't.”   
  
His blue eyes shifted to stare blankly at the metal floor. “She and I spent so much time trying to figure out a way to destroy those things. So many sleepless nights. In the end, all it took was rocket fuel, some calculations on a screen, and a chunk of credits to make one disappear... like it never existed at all. Like she...”

Garrus didn't even bother to stop them as his sub-vocals rang with mourning. He placed the bottle on the floor at his feet before he crumpled, his face finding refuge in the palms of his hands. It was then Victus felt, dare he thought, a paternal stirring in his chest as he watched the younger turian shake with grief.  
  
Before his brain could catch up with him, his hand gripped Garrus' shoulder and he began to hum a comforting vibration.

“I know it hurts,” Victus murmured. “You can let it out.”

His only response was a low keen that gripped his heart. Adrien tightened his hold on Garrus' shoulder while he waited for the trembling to stop and when it eventually did and Garrus composed himself again, Adrien said, “you don't have to watch the others when they go up.”  
  
Garrus shook his head.   
  
“No,” he said, his voice suddenly resolved. “I have to.”   
  
And he did.   
  
They sent two more up by the end of the month and Garrus was present for both. His reaction was the same for the second Reaper, if anything a little subdued, but Adrien sat with him in the forward battery all the same. By the third one, he was far more composed, having conquered at least one more climb up his mountain of pain in his quest to move on with his life without his mate. It was a struggle Adrien remembered all too well.

 

* * *

 

It was six weeks after the third Reaper had been launched when he received word that the Aralakh mass relay was functioning once again, which meant the occupying krogan could at last be sent home. Of course, things are rarely so easy, for he was surprised to discover that some of the krogan simply didn't want to leave. He was afraid of something like that happening, but never gave it much thought because why would a krogan want to stay on Palaven?  
  
Apparently Naash did, and the look of betrayal that he gave Victus actually managed to yank strings of sympathy within the Primarch.   
  
“Have I not been a good enough krantt?” He asked.   
  
“No!” Victus was quick to reply. “You've been a great krantt!”   
  
“I don't understand,” Naash stated, his hands opening at his sides in a puzzled gesture. His voice had taken on the saddest tone Adrien had ever heard from a krogan in his life.   
  
“It's complicated, Naash,” Victus responded, pointedly ignoring the way this conversation was beginning to sound like a breakup between lovers.   
  
“We've been behaving ourselves. I've made sure of it,” Naash reasoned.

Victus was just going to have to say it.

“The krogan are cured now, Naash, which is what complicates things. Your females can have up to a thousand eggs in one year. The fact of the matter is I can't have tens of thousands of krogan over-populating Palaven. My people can't afford that.”  
  
“You're worried about us starting families here?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“You wouldn't have to worry about that with my mate and I,” Naash pressed, earnestly.   
  
With a sympathetic look, Victus replied with, “Don't you want to go start a family?”   
  
Naash shrugged before explaining, “Well, I never really thought a family would be in the cards for us. On Tuchanka, all children are raised with the females in their clans, which means adoption was never an option. My mate and I are both male, so we're not having any of our own.”   
  
“Wait, you're-”   
  
“Gay. Yeah.”   
  
“I didn't know,” was his lame reply. In actuality, he had never even entertained the thought that krogan could have different sexual preferences. Every one he'd met had always been bitter about the genophage so he just poorly assumed they were all heterosexual.   
  
Naash nodded, as if expecting his answer.   
  
“It's something my mate and I learned to keep quiet a _long_ time ago. Since the genophage, same-sex coupling has been-uh... frowned upon in krogan culture. Many clans see it as selfish and... ' _detrimental to our race's survival_ ,'” he bit the last part out as if the words were a poison he's had to swallow for years. His face twisted with anger as he undoubtedly recalled a bitter memory. “It's even worse for our women.”   
  
“You don't think it will improve now that the genophage is cured?”   
  
Naash scoffed.   
  
“I don't know. Maybe. The thing is, I don't care. We started building a life here, Primarch. My mate -his name's Toxx- has started working construction. He's already made some friends and your people don't care if someone's gay or not. And I like being your krantt. You got a lot of people coming around that need scarin' off and I'm happy to do it.” He grinned at Victus and continued with, “We're happier here than we ever were at that shit-hole, Tuchanka. You strolling into that compound and shooting me in the foot was one of the best things to ever happen to me.”   
  
_'Fuck me,'_ Adrien thought to himself, exacerbated. He was not looking forward to discussing this in the next meeting with the Hierarchy.

He did, and after going back and forth with them for hours they had reached a tentative compromise. In recognition for the krogan that had fought for Palaven during the invasion they, and _only_ them, could stay as citizens to the Hierarchy if they wished. However, in doing so, they would agree to forego their right to repopulate. If they wanted children, they would have to leave and raise them elsewhere.

Victus would be lying if he said he was disappointed that most of the krogan ultimately decided to leave. The thought of finally being able to start families of their own was far too alluring. Fewer krogan on Palaven would make his job slightly easier and Naash seemed content enough with the outcome.  
  
“Maybe adoption is a possible option after all,” Naash mused when he heard the news. “Wouldn't have to be a krogan. I'm sure there's plenty of turian orphans right now that could use a papa. How much safer can a kid get when they've got two krogan to call dad.”   
  
“One thing at a time, Naash.”

 

* * *

 

As more relays opened, so too did his connection with the other turian colonies. Or... what was left of them. Before the war, there were fourteen Primarchs, and one Chief Primarch, which is Victus' technical title because he is the Primarch in charge of the homeworld. The other Primarchs had jurisdiction over Cannis, Edessan, Epyrus, Baetika, Farin II, Gothis, Macedyn, Oma Ker, Pulan, Quadim, Silona, Solregit, Taetrus and last, and perhaps most infamous of all, Invictus.  
  
Of the fourteen, only nine Primarchs lived to see the end. Of those nine, two of them, Invictus and Solregit, were more Separatist in nature. While Invictus has been a clusterfuck for centuries now, it could be argued that Solregit was considered Separatist only recently. Throughout history, the ruling loyalist Primarchs have faced heavy adversity with Solregit's mixed population of Loyalists and Separatists, who called themselves the Sundowners. During the Invasion, Solregit cycled through several Primarchs, each one systematically succumbing to indoctrination. When the office fell to Mayor Selene Khairus, she made a statement saying, "I can no longer trust the loyalty or stability of my surviving staff. Therefore, I am exercising the powers under the War Measures Act to choose a successor outside the standard lineage.” That was how, Victus was shocked to learn, the Primarchy transferred to Louki Fidele of the Sundowners following Khairus’ death three months into the War.

Victus' platoon tangled with the Sundowners several times over the years, including skirmishes that involved Fidele himself. One such encounter with Victus' men cost Fidele his left leg. After that, Hierarchy intel gathered that while he was unable to fight on foot with his men, he continued to take part in assaults as a vehicle operator before assuming a command position.  
  
_'And now we face each other again as Primarchs,'_ Victus mused to himself with no small amount of distaste as he stepped into the communication chamber. _'This will prove interesting.'_ _  
__  
_ His deep-rooted ire for the new Primarch of Solregit could only be surpassed by his complete and utter detestation for the Primarch of Invictus, Devius Agoril. Out of the millions of words in the Imperan language, Victus could see no way to combine them in such a way to describe just how much he wanted to beat that man with the first blunt object within reach. He deserved no more than a swift execution for his treasonous behavior during the invasion. It was fortunate for him that their first meeting would be over holographic connection because Victus knew his short limits for patience would result with the man's death. _  
__  
_ From outside, Solana established the communication and, after several seconds, the Primarchs began to appear sporadically around him. They stood in their own communication chambers so that their images transmitted in a way that made them appear almost physical. Victus took a moment to take them in. Some of them he admired even before working with them directly during the war. Primarchs Hadriana Nyx of Edessan, Tabris Rumix of Gothis and Caeltus Octaso of Baetika made tenacious and inspiring leaders during the war. The Primarchs of Farin II, Oma Ker, Pulan, and Taetrus were new, having been elected by their officials recently during the communication black out.  
  
Then his eyes swept ominously over the five empty spots where the Primarchs of the ill-fated colonies of Cannis, Epyrus, Macedyn, Silona, and Quadim would have stood. In particular, his eyes lingered on the place where he knew the Primarch of Macedyn, Tacia Paetril would have stood. Macedyn had put up a valiant fight, but the unrelenting Reapers eventually secured their victory over the colony. Rather than provide the Reapers with more husk fodder to bolster their ranks with, Primarch Paetril made the call to drop nukes on her own people, denying the enemy their victory spoils. She could have escaped, but she chose to die along with her people. She had a communication line open with Victus when she'd made the call.

Sometimes at night, he could still hear the gun she had raised to her own skull right after apologizing to him and wishing him luck.

“If it isn't the Hierarchy's pet varren himself!”  
  
_'So that's how it's going to be.'_ Victus' focus shifted to the one-legged turian that stood with the use of a prosthetic. Louki Fidele met his eyes, his expression one of barely suppressed contempt. The stark tattoos on Fidele's face reflected not of the official Solregit markings, but those of his Sundowners.

The original founders of Solregit's Hierarchy population adopted a full-face solar-burst tattoo design. Over time, the solar-burst changed and evolved, reflecting the way the planet began to divide both geologically and politically between the Loyalist south and the Separatist north. The northerners began placing solar-ray patterns on their fringes and starbursts on their browplates, eventually dropping the top half of the rays entirely, so they'd stand out from the Loyalist south.

Fidele had one horizontal red ray over his mandibles, and one from his eyes to the upper lip, representing the bottom half of the sun; tying in with the name, _Sundowners_ . Additionally, he had a set of jaws painted around his real mouth, “battle teeth,” they called them. It was an old tradition dating back to the Unification Wars. The battle teeth are painted over the lower lip of their soldiers, extending the vertical ray from the top lip onto the bottom lip, but only for a blooded veteran. From Victus' own experience with the man, he certainly was.   
  
“Fidele,” Victus acknowledged him with a smile he knew didn't meet his eyes. “It's been too long. How's the leg?” He gestured to the prosthetic that supported the weight of his old rival.   
  
Fidele spared his prosthetic a brief glance as he chuckled darkly.   
  
“From what I hear, it's doing about as well as your son.” Victus caught himself before the sting of the exposed nerve showed on his face.   
  
“I disagree. I lost my son to an honorable death for a worthy cause. You lost your leg to a misguided pipe dream you continue to cling to like a child afraid to grow up and face reality.” If there was any way to piss off a Separatist, it's to point out the futility of their pointless cause.

Fidele's eyes burned and he opened both his physical and painted jaws to spout his retort.  
  
“I'm sure a petty man like you would consider the loss of a limb some sort of great victory, but-”   
  
Victus moved quickly into Fidele's holographic face, his mandibles mere inches from the double jaws of his adversary. A feral smile spread across his own visage as he said, “I admit, it's a memory I stroke myself to nightly.”   
  
“Charming,” Primarch Hadriana Nyx chastised, sub-vocals humming with disapproval. “Are you two Primarchs or children?”   
  
“He's no Primarch,” growled the only man in the room Victus hated more than the Sundowner before him; Devius Agoril.

Victus immediately reined himself in. It was one thing to posture -and really, that's what is was- in front of Fidele; a man he considered an old rival, but grudgingly respected... in a way. If there was anything positive to be said about Louki Fidele, it was that he hadn't done any real harm to the people below him. In fact, he seemed to be making an effort to be neutral, treating both the Separatists and Loyalists of Solregit equally. Loss of life and damage to infrastructure on the colony, while substantial, was still below average compared to the other colonies. According to his supporters, his success is largely credited to his "lifetime of experience in fighting a technologically and numerically superior foe." In short, Fidele wasn't a complete waste of air and actually proved himself useful during the war. Victus no longer had a reason to kill him and Fidele knew that.

Agoril, though, was a different story. If not for his title, Victus would deem it unnecessary to acknowledge the traitor's existence at all. He forced himself still, his eyes cold and void of emotion as he turned them onto the Invictus Primarch. While Fidele didn't bother to hide his dislike for Victus, he had still made an effort to uphold a confident and professional stance. Probably due to their albeit bloody, but long history with each other. They knew the other's strengths and capabilities and that brought with it a silent and reluctant respect that they shared. All of that was absent in the Invictus Primarch. He looked just as eager to kill Victus.  
  
Victus could tell he had more to say, so he waited. Not as a polite gesture, but as a show of dominance. Agoril could continue because he allowed it.  
  
“Like it or not, Agoril,” Nyx growled, conveying her own loathing for the man, “You are addressing the Chief Primarch.”  
  
“ _Chief Primarch,_ ” he sneered. “He's barely fit to lead a group of greenhorns, let alone _us_. He's a farce!”  
  
The loyalist Primarchs visibly bristled at the accusation of a superior. Victus held up a hand, staving off any shots. Agoril continued.  
  
“The war's over now, Victus. Going to return my troops any time soon?” He asked with a condescending tilt of his head. The two simple strokes of purple on his mandibles shone florescent as they caught the lighting in the chamber.  
  
“If they wish it. Many of them seem quite content.”  
  
“You're holding them hostage,” Agoril accused.  
  
“I've done no such thing, though I have executed the deserters that ceased fire on our enemies, and allowed civilians to be captured. An order given by their Primarch, I understand.”  
  
“Only after _you_ refused to return my forces when I needed them!” He snapped.  
  
Victus felt his cold anger begin to simmer and he took a step toward Agoril's holographic self.  
  
“I kept a close watch on Invictus as I did with every colony,” A low, feral rumble began to emit from the depths of Victus' chest. “Your world never fell under the kind siege the others had. As Palaven had. So yes. I denied your inane requests time and again because I could not spare the resources when my other worlds needed them more, as I told you.”

He was now inches from Agoril's mandibles, burning holes into his head with his amber eyes. “ _You-”_ the word came out in the form of snarl, like an insult. “-ordered your troops to _cease fire_ on our enemies. At the time, I thought you had been indoctrinated. That no one would be that _stupid_ ,-” his growl grew louder, and his jaw slackened of its own accord in a threatening display of his teeth. How he wished he could rip his throat out. “-that _cowardly._ You might as well of _fucked_ us over yourself.”   
  
Victus gestured to the empty spots where five other Primarchs would have stood, his eyes never breaking from Agoril's. He ended his tirade there, allowing the unspoken word ‘traitor’ to float in the minds around him.   
  
“Don't you dare pin that on me,” he seethed. “The only traitor in here is _you_ , Victus. _You_ diverted forces to help client races over your own people!”   
  
“They are my people too.”   
  
“Is that what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night?” He laughed. “All you cared about was Palaven and some volus on their backwater planet.”   
  
“Palaven is the heart of our entire empire.”   
  
“And what's a heart without its limbs?”   
  
“What's a limb without blood pumping through it?” All eyes turned to the turian that cut in. Louki Fidele took in the stares, his eyes alert, but his posture eased as he watched Victus and his fellow Separatist. Victus and Agoril met his gaze, both shocked, but for different reasons. Victus for his unexpected support. Agoril for his unexpected betrayal. Fidele shrugged before he quipped, “Trust me. I know the answer to that.”   
  
In a later moment, at a later time, Victus would think back on that and laugh as he shared the memory with Garrus. Right now though, he was far too angry to even fake a smile.   
  
“Your line isn't even of Palaven!” Agoril blustered as he tried to regain some lost ground. “Your family is of Invictus!”   
  
It was a true enough statement. Victus' family had been one of the first settlers on the colony world, hence his name, but that was centuries ago. His clan had long since dropped the four simple purple strokes of the Invictus tattoo for the grand, full face sweeps of Palaven's. He considered Invictus about as much a part of him as he considered the other colony worlds.   
  
“And _we_ -” Victus spread his arms, gesturing to all the Primarchs that watched their argument from their colony worlds light years away “-are all of Palaven.”

 

* * *

 

His posture deflated from confident to defeated as soon as the communication was cut and the lights died around him, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He took a private moment to lower himself to the cold metal floor in the middle of the chamber so he could reflect on his encounter and the sobering realization of the outcome. He felt older than he had in years.  
  
After his confrontation with Agoril died down, they had moved on to discussing the statuses of the colony worlds and plans to restore the lost ones. Once that business was taken care of, they had come down to the last scheduled topic for the evening.

He had been officially voted in to represent the entire turian race as the new Citadel Councilor.

It sickened him when it came back as almost unanimous. Even Louki Fidele cast his vote for him and Victus couldn't shake the feeling that he did so as a slight. His own twisted cut for revenge because he knew how much Victus wouldn't want the position.  
  
“It's not fair,” he said quietly, but aloud to himself, knowing exactly how juvenile he sounded. He was still learning to be a Primarch. Not only that, he was learning to enjoy it and take pride in it. Find peace in it. He felt he was only just starting to get good at the job when yet another rug was yanked out from underneath him. He thought of the faces in the crowd that smiled at him, that shared their grief with him. Their hope in him. He didn't want to leave them.   
  
He knew he could refuse the vote and he had time to think on it. Restoration of the Citadel had been predicted to take another year, at least. He hadn't even elected a Vice Primarch yet and his next-in-line was a man who wanted the job even less than he did. Yet, a traitorous voice echoed in his thoughts.

 _'You knew this would happen.'_ It said. _'Who else did you honestly think they would pick? Of all the Primarchs, you've garnered the most experience working alongside other races. It has to be you.'_  
  
His fist cracked as it slammed into the metal floor. The pain did nothing to abate his stormy mood.  
  
When Victus at long last stepped out of the communication chamber, he felt both physically and emotionally drained. As he rounded the chamber, Solana looked up at him from her desk with a face he wasn't prepared for, stopping him in his tracks. It was sympathy. Had she been watching him?  
  
“Your office, sir,” was all she said. It was all she needed to say for his stomach to instantly drop uncomfortably under the sheer sobriety of her tone. There was something there that made him worry. Made him feel like he had to hurry.  
  
Without a single look backwards, he turned away from her and darted from the room, running as fast as he could to his office. He typed in the door's password in his omni-tool as he ran and it flew open to him before he was even halfway down the corridor. When he stepped into the room, his eyes flickered to his desk where he found Han waiting for him. He didn't know how long he had been waiting, but that was a thought for another time because Adrien's amber eyes sought the item the volus held carefully in his small arms.  
  
Adrien's body froze in place as his brain registered the shape of the object.  
  
An urn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had planned for Victus to meet the other Primarchs from the beginning, but I had not intended for it to be as drawn out as it was. Boy was I not aware of the rabbit hole I was going down when all I wanted to do was brush up on my Turian lore to stay as faithful to the ME universe as possible. After a night I had dedicated to writing turned into a night of research, I decided I just couldn't leave out all that I'd learned, especially about Solregit and Invictus. I felt I owed it to our favorite Primarch.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it.


	11. Chapter 11

 

In truth, Adrien had almost forgotten when Wrex informed him that Eve had cremated the recovered remains of the Ninth Platoon, which was why he had completely forgotten what it meant when the Aralakh relay was reactivated. He felt numb when he accepted the urn from Han. He heard the volus saying something kind or sympathetic, but Victus didn't remember responding. He carried the urn out of the building, not even responding to Naash when he gave him a questioning look as he passed him. Now he sat alone on his couch, staring at the urn he'd placed in front of him on the short kava table.

The urn was fairly simple in design, made from some kind of white Tuchankaclay, but he could tell some effort was put into its making, all the same. A black compound created dark, thin, twisting veins on the urn's surface with no rhyme or reason to them except to stand in contrast to the white color. A silver plaque had been molded to the surface. It read:

  
**Lieutenant Tarquin Victus.  
May his ancestors look as favorably on his courage as we do, for we owe him our lives.**

  
Eve's influence, no doubt. As a shaman, she probably had a lot of experience making urns for the cremated dead that they honored. The words and design were very krogan in nature, but the sentiment was the same,and it truly was a beautiful piece. Tarquin would have approved.

“You were only twenty,” he spoke quietly to the urn.

He raised a finger to hesitantly touch the surface, allowing himself to foolishly imagine the curved portion as his son's browplate. As his talon neared the glossy finish, he inadvertently met the amber stare of his own reflection. He saw his own face. He didn't like the dead eyes that stared back him, accusing him, threatening to overcome him with his own neglected sorrow. Drag him down. Drown him.

He quickly ripped the digit away as if the surface burned him.

“Not now,” he told himself, shaking his head as he quickly got to his feet. He collected the urn from the table and briskly strode across the room to a high-mounted shelf.

“I'm sorry,” he said, his eyes risking only a single glance into the polished finish before flickering away once again, afraid of what he would see. “I still have work to do. I can't. Not now.”

With one hand, he removed a rifle that he had previously positioned on the shelf and then set Tarquin's urn in its place. He turned away from the shelf and raised his omni-tool.

 _"I need a drink,”_ he typed in as he set his rifle on the kava table and strode out the door without a single backwards look.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“What'll it be, Primarch?” The green-plated krogan -' _Sam?'_ \- asked him with a voice far friendlier than he remembered during their first and last encounter. Now that Victus thought about it, he didn't recall the krogan saying a single word then.

“Horosk,” Victus grunted.

“On the rocks or-?”

“I don't care.”

“That bad, huh?” Sam rumbled. When Victus didn't reply, the krogan trudged off to pour him a glass. Victus decided there was something to be said about Sam's unexpected generosity when he slid a triple over ice in front of him. That, or a hint at a truly sadistic nature to capitalize on a man's grief.

As he raised the glass to his eager mouth, he heard a familiar voice from behind him say, “Well, here's a reverse scenarioif ever there was one,” and Garrus slid onto the stool beside him. The same one, Victus noticed, that he had perched on the night he found him drugged out of his mind. “This can't be good.”

Victus was silent for a moment, contemplating whether or not he wanted to tell Garrus the real purpose for wanting him to be here. He stared darkly at his glass and deciding it was still too full for his liking, he raised it to his mouth again to remedy that.

“I met with the other Primarchs today,” he resolved himself to say after he lowered his glass, but kept his hand wrapped tightly around it. “The surviving ones anyway.”

Sam had returned to place Garrus' drink in front of him without even bothering to ask what he wanted. Garrus mumbled his thanks before raising the glass to take his own sip.

“Sounds fun,” he commented around the rim.

“Lots of fun. Especially the part when I told Louki Fidele that I masturbate to the memory of him losing his leg on a nightly basis.” Garrus was in the middle of savoring a second mouthful of his drink. He ended up coughing on it instead.

“Victus, you didn't!” He chided with wide eyes once he managed to clear his airway of his drink. His words were chastising, but amusement colored his sub-harmonics all the same.

“I did,” Victus acknowledged cheerlessly before raising his glass to take another swig.

“Yeah, he's going to make me ask.” He heard Garrus say to himself. “Do you?”

“I may have exaggerated the _nightly_ part.”

Garrus laughed, pressing a hand to his eyes as he did so. The laughter didn't last longer than a few seconds and when it ended, Victus took the opportunity to confess, “I may have also, more or less, threatened to execute the Primarch of Invictus.”

“The Primarch of Palaven, everyone,” Garrus quipped, removing his hand from his eyes to make a gesture like he was introducing Victus to an imaginary audience. “And to think I assured Solana that you wouldn't have to be reminded to play nice with the other world leaders.”

Victus couldn't help but chuckle slightly against the rim of his raised glass despite the mood he had arrived in. Garrus watched him for a moment, smiling, but it wouldn't last. His grin morphed into something scrutinizing as he leveled a skeptical look at the older turian.

“That's odd,” Garrus observed, like he suddenly noticed something different about him. “Usually yelling at diplomats leaves you in a better mood than this.”

“I don't yell.”

“You've been known to yell a time or two.”

Victus' smile proved unable to hold out against his soured mood and he felt his face darken again. Garrus must have misunderstood the cause because he suddenly tacked on, “I was just kidding. The Invictus Primarch... he's the one that ordered his troops to cease fire. Fuck him.”

“My thoughts exactly," his voice rumbled threateningly.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, and I'm sure it won't, _I'm_ glad they picked you to succeed Fedorian,” Garrus said, his sub-harmonics vibrating with encouragement.

“Is that so?” Victus asked. The question was preceded by a humorless hum.

“It's so, but I need you to promise me one thing in order to secure your position at the top of my list of Best Primarchs in History.”

“What's that?” He decided to humor him.

“Thirty years from now, if you're still in office and my kid and I show up on your doorstep ranting about a highly advanced race of sentient machines that are on their way to destroy us all, do me a favor and believe us.”

Garrus had succeeded at pulling another hard-won smile from the depths of Adrien's despair. He glanced to his side to regard the younger turian fondly. He gave himself a second to confirm his desire for transparency before responding with, “You have my word on that, though... I doubt I'll be holding office on Palaven in thirty years.” Then his eyes once againsought refuge in the horosk in front of him, watching the ice cubes clink against the glass as he gave his drink a quick swirl. “Or much longer at all.”

Any trace of mirth on Garrus' face had been wiped clean, his expression becoming instantly serious. Victus could see the unvoiced question in his eyes that he knew he had to answer.

“For the last topic of the meeting, we all voted on who among us should take Sparatus' place as Councilor once the _Citadel_ is rebuilt.” Garrus' posture relaxed slightly in the way a person's posture does when they have heard something they'd been expecting and had already accepted it.

Garrus reached for his glass to take a long quaff and it was only after he returned it to the bar's surface did he look at Victus again and confirm, “They picked you.”

Victus acknowledged the obvious answer by waving down Sam for another round. In the time it took the krogan to pour the liquor and slide new glasses in front of them, Garrus continued with a nonchalant shrug in his shoulders. “That's all right. You can still keep your promise. Believe it or not, I sought a meeting with the Council before I'd even _considered_ going to my father about the Reapers. I knew they wouldn't listen. They never listened to Shepard, but I felt their scrutiny was preferable to my father's.”

He paused to laugh softly, finding humor at his own thoughts, and then continued. “I'll also accept listening to the first Spectre of whatever future race we come across when he or she comes to you in the first place.” Garrus stopped to stare at the glass, contemplating his next line of thought and then resumed with, “And please don't do this.” He made a motion with his thumb and index finger on both his hands, a reference to something Victus didn't understand.

“Air quotes, Shepard called them,” Garrus explained upon seeing the Primarch's puzzled expression. “It's a mocking hand gesture in human culture.”

“Sparatus did that?”

Garrus nodded. “It became a bit of an inside joke between us- well, it did once she'd gotten past her anger over it. Then it made her laugh when I'd do it,” he expounded, as he began to turn his hands over to examine his fingers as he finished, “I guess it just doesn't have the same effect with our hands.”

“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised,” Victus admitted. “Sparatus was always a pompous ass.”

“True, but if there's anything to be said about him, he became Shepard's... maybe ' _favorite_ ' is too strong a word, but she began to prefer him to Tevos and Valern. He proved to be the most helpful to her after she left Earth when the Reapers hit. As you know, he was the one that sent her to Menae in the first place.”

“Never thought I'd see the day that I'd have Sparatus to thank for my survival.” Victus shook his head slightly at the thought. Though it was also in part to the fuzzy feeling the alcohol was beginning to create in his head.

 _'And my fate,'_ he thought quietly.

“It's kind of funny. He usedto be Shepard's least liked Councilor, especially during our hunt for Saren. He was _very_ critical of her then. They all were, but him especially,” reminisced the younger turian.

Victus could tell Garrus was beginning to feel the effectsof his own drink by the way his body began to slump in his seat. “But he didn't have much competition after Shepard found Aria T'loak at Purgatory. Some poor C-Sec immigration officer had the unfortunate job to tell Aria that she needed to come along for processing. So Aria simply called up the asari Councilor,as one does when suffering a minor inconvenience. After spending years pushing back against everything Shepard -their own damn Spectre- requested she immediately complies with Aria, even asking what else she could do for her.”

Garrus smiled as a memory took hold of him and then concluded his story with, “To put it mildly, Shepard was pissed.” He then raised his omni-tool, considered it for a moment and then began to swipe across the holo-interface.

“I met her in the shuttle bay afterwards and couldn't help recording this.” He hit play and a small holo-screen beamed from his arm onto the bar. Commander Shepard could be seen stomping around the Normandy's shuttle bay.

_“'Is there anything else I can do for you?'” She mocked, then threw her fist into an innocent punching bag as she stormed past it. Her voice rose. “Are you fucking kidding me, Garrus?”_

_The camera shook as the Garrus from the past was trying to withhold his laughter_ _and failing._

_“After all the times she's denied any request I made of them, she asks Aria 'is there anything more I can do for you?'” she exclaimed, her pacing feet halting long enough to send a crate flying when it met its fate with a well-placed kick. “It's not funny!” she added, rounding on her turian companion, eyes bright with anger._

_The camera shook harder in response, rumbling sub-harmonics vibrating the audio._

_“Garrus!” Her arms went up in exasperation. Victus could tell she was putting up a valiant effort to keep the rage in place on her features, but as the camera shook harder, the right corner of her mouth began to quirk._

_“Stop laughing!” she demanded. Then the flanged, unmistakably turian laughter erupted in full, effectively cracking through the mask of anger on the commander's face._

_“I'm serious, Garrus!” But her words rang hollow as her own smile split her face in a way Victus was never privy to. Then laughter boiled out of her and it seemed to worsen the louder her turian companion grew. She began to hug her sides, and then threw a placating arm out, waving it in surrender._

_“Stop it!” she cried. Her eyes had shut tight as she shook with mirth. “It's not fucking funny, Garrus!”_

_She managed to reach up for his cowl, grabbing the rim with both hands and seemed to use the turian's larger frame to brace herself as her legs gave out, collapsing against him. Her forehead came down to rest against his armored chest._

_"Damn it. Just let me be angry!" she choked out through fit of giggles. Her face pressed hard against his chest. Her little body still trembled with laughter as Garrus' arms rose to encircle her._

The footage stopped. Victus looked to the face of the younger turian and found him smiling at his memories, but he didn't miss the quiver of his mandibles as he suppressed the grief that was there as well.

“I never saw her like that,” Victus said in his small attempt to distract Garrus from following the alluring trail of sorrow.

“Few people did,” Garrus acknowledged with a nod. “She liked you though. She wasn't sure about you at first. She even asked me if we could trust you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I said something along the lines of you having a tendency to play hard and fast with the rules, but that betraying an ally wasn't your style.” Garrus' face took on a slightly sheepish expression as he finished with, “I may have also told her that, if you did, we'll just have to find another Primarch.”

“Good to know where your loyalties lie, Vakarian.” It might have been the alcohol that made him say it, but Victus instantly regretted his words when he saw the way Garrus' sheepish expression vanished into a wall of stoicism. He meant it as a joke, of course, but it came served on a giant truth platter and neither turian could deny it. They sat in an uncomfortable silence, their easy camaraderie suddenly stricken.

“That's why you didn't tell me about the bomb, isn't it?” Garrus at last broke the silence by asking, though it was more of a statement than a question.

As much as Victus didn't want to broach this particular raw subject, he felt it would be unfair for Garrus to go unanswered. He sufficed his answer with a slow nod, but Garrus remained silent, waiting for more.

“I meant it as a joke, Garrus, but you and I both know the truth of it. You were- _are_ my adviser and a damn good one, but your true allegiances were made abundantly clear to me since Menae,when you couldn't go five sentences without including her name in at least one of them. You were _my_ adviser, as well as _her_ confidant. You were a part of her crew. Not mine.” Garrus stiffened slightly at his words but didn't give off any hint of objection. Victus pressed on.

“I knew that if I had told you, I would have to place you under orders to withhold information from your commander. _Undoubtedly_ -” he said with a pointed look at his comrade. “-you would have disobeyed that direct order, even from the Primarch of Palaven and I would have little choice but to charge you with treason.” That elicited a wince from Garrus.

“If it makes you feel better, I was not opposed to your relationship with her. In fact, I could acknowledge that it had served to my advantage up to that point. Telling you would have done nothing except set you up to fail and potentially fracture the tentative alliance between the commander and myself. There was no reason for me to do that. Your loyalties may have laid elsewhere. Regardless, you had done too much for the Hierarchy to be labeled a traitor. I wouldn't do that to you.”

“So you did it for my benefit?” Garrus asked with a tone that conveyed skepticism.

“Hardly,” Victus answered immediately, hearing nothing of himself. Only the cold Primarch rang in his voice as he addressed, not his friend, but a subordinate. “It was to the benefit of practicality. As I said, outing you as a traitor to the Hierarchy would serve no one. I saw a problem that needed to be righted with only a small window to do so and it had to be done discreetly, or risk whatever fragile and above all, _crucial_ alliance was forming between Wrex and myself.I couldn't risk the commander - _his_ friend-going to him. I couldn't anticipate what he would do.” Victus paused to throw back the rest of his drink, knowing he would need it as he approached the end of his story. “Faced with so many unknowns and I could only discern a single assurance. I did know the one and only person I _could_ trust, beyond a shadow of a doubt, with the information.” He smiled wryly at his empty glass. “It would be too late when I realized the tactical error I had made.”

“How were you able to contact Tarquin without EDI overhearing you?”

“Simple. I wasn't on the _Normandy_ when I called him. I called him from Menae before I even boarded. The thing about being named Primarch is you get access to all the Hierarchy's dirty laundry in a matter of seconds. The satellite watching that-” he faltered for a fraction of second to contemplate his word choice given their public surroundings. “- _device_ detected the movement of the Cerberus vessels closing in on the location and it sent an alert to my omni-tool. With my presence expected on the _Normandy_ and a potential crisis in my hands, I had only minutes to make a decision.”

“ _That_ device. You say that like... You mean there's...” Garrus prodded, keeping his voice pitched low so as not to be overheard. Not that it mattered due to the sparse amount of patrons in the building and the fact thatSam had stomped off minutes ago to mess with the ever-faulty door. Still, Victus chose to answer his inquiry with only a long, silent look.

“I guess I shouldn't be surprised,” he commented more to himself than to Victus as he reached for the comfort of his glass.

Victus remembered that vidcomm to his son with too much clarity. It would be the final time he would see Tarquin's face, to hear his voice, and the memory twisted a knife in his chest. Not because it would be the final time, but because of the formality of the call. It wasn't a vidcomm between a worried father and his son. It was a call between a Primarch with orders to a subordinate.

_“Lieutenant Victus,” he'd said when Tarquin had answered his call. He used an authoritative timbre to his voice that immediately set the tone for the conversation. Tarquin was instantly at attention._

_“What I'm about to tell you is highly classified information and a direct order from the current Primarch of Palaven. Can you confirm the security of your location to the best of your knowledge?” he_ _snapped out, forcing himself to look past the shock that registered on his son's face at the mention of his new title._

_“D-dad you're-”_

_“I asked you a question, Lieutenant.”_

_“Yes, sir. I... can, sir,” he stammered slightly, regaining his composure._

“ _You can what?”_

_“Confirm the security of my location, sir.”_

_“Acknowledged. Consider this a field promotion to Lieutenant-Commander of the Ninth Platoon, your current designation.”_

_The horror at his unexpected promotion broke through Tarquin's hard-fought composure, shattering it completely. Victus forced himself to ignore the terrified look in his son's widened eyes. His mandibles tightened to his youthful jaw. The pleading expression in his eyes... A plead for mercy Victus only wished he could grant him._

_“Dad-uh... Sir!” He added quickly. “I'm not ready for... I can't.”_

_“You can. You have to be. This mission is of vital importance to our war effort and you are who I trust to carry it out. I'm sending you your mission coordinates now as well as all necessary proof of your command.”_

_Tarquin's training must have kicked in through his shock because he forced his mandibles to loosen and his face morphed into a mask of forbearance. Victus acknowledged that his son suddenly looked like a younger version of himself. Gone was the little boy he would allow to sneak up on him, pretending he was none the wiser until he struck with his tiny claws and tremendous will. They would roll around on the floor, but Adrien always let him win in the end. Gone was the child that peered shyly around his father's spurs as he used his legs as a barricade when confronted by a stranger. Gone was the young man that spent long nights in the kitchen with his father after deployment, both dancing around bits of their respective missions they were allowed to discuss._

_Adrien stared into the cold, hardened green eyes of a soldier about to embark on his most challenging trial yet._

_His son, his boy, had gone._

_He had never been so proud._

_He had never been so terrified._

“ _Yes, sir,” Tarquin said, without an ounce of his usual warmth in his tone. Perhaps even a touch of resentment was present._

_“Spirits go with you, Lieutenant-Commander. The Ninth Platoon does us all proud.” He paused to take in the beautiful visage of his son's face, burning it to his memory... knowing he was quite possibly sending his boy to his death._

_“You do_ me _proud.” Adrien couldn't help himself any more than he could help the crack in his voice. Undoubtedly, it registered across the comm because something flickered across Tarquin's cold eyes, thawing them, but only for an instant and it was gone._

_“Thank you, sir. Will that be all?”_ __was_ _ _Tarquin's only response._

_“Nothing further, Lieutenant-Commander. Dismissed.” And he ended the call before any more unnecessary sentimentality could leak in. As Tarquin flickered out, Victus' traitorous hand snapped up reflexively for where his son's face had been. It was some inane attempt to grab him and pull him from the danger he had just sent him towards, but his fist closed around empty air._

_He stared at his closed fist against the backdrop of a darkened makeshift bunker. He heard the sound of a Reaper trumpet off in the distance._

“Victus?” Color began to bleed into the darkness at the voice, slowly changing the backdrop of his outstretched fist to what looked like a dusty bar somewhere far away.

“Hey!” The voice was urgent now and it came accompanied by the weight of a three-fingered hand on his shoulder. It gripped tightly.

_A Reaper blared, but as the siren died, he heard words ghost the tail of it._

_“Victory at any cost.”_

Victus gasped audibly and glanced around at the sudden change of his surroundings. His eyes fell first on his outstretched fist. He forced his hand back to the bar and then looked to the concerned turian beside him.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah...” Garrus agreed.

“He wasn't ready, Vakarian.”

The words flowed from him like a confession. Inside him, the Primarch and the General stood united in their attempt to silence the grieving father in the face of a subordinate, but the alcohol muffled their objections and the father broke through. The horosk left his voice slurred and he sat heavily on the stool, feeling barely able to keep his frame upright any longer. “I _knew_ that. Another year and perhaps he would have been, but the Reapers granted us no such luxury. I _swear_ it wasn't out of nepotism or anything of the sort. I _needed_ him to be ready. I knew he wasn't and... I sent him anyway.”

“You did what you felt you had to. I understand that. Shepard understood that as well.” Garrus' words were kind and perhaps later they would be of some comfort. But not now.

“The thing about being a General... you get to take all the glory for a soldier's work. But at the same time, you also shoulder the burden of their mistakes. The blood of the Ninth Platoon is on my hands,” he turned his weighted head to look Garrus in the eye. “ _Not_ Tarquin's,” he stressed fiercely.

Garrus didn't try for another platitude. Instead, a knowing look took the place of concern, which told Victus that despite never officially owning the title of General, the younger turian knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Yeah,” he confirmed before removing his grip from Victus' shoulder. “I sympathize with Tarquin and no, I'm not just saying that for your benefit. He's... not the only one that made a bad call, believing it was the right one... and got his men killed as a result.” Garrus suddenly looked far older than what his actual age would imply. His eyes looked on listlessly as ghosts from his past began to plague his mind.

Victus offered his friend a weak smile, feeling the years of his own life weigh down on it, and he said, “We're all Generals at some point in our lives, Vakarian. As children with wooden swords and plastic guns, pretending to command our troops... Only some of us never grow out of it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended this chapter to be **a lot** longer, but because it's been so long since I last updated, I really didn't want to push the chapter off another week for editing. So I decided to just go ahead and post the first half that I am happy with. Good news is the next part is mostly done so expect chapter 12 very soon. Thank you to all those who keep coming back to read this story! :)
> 
> Oh, and FYI, I will be going back through the story and changing Kaius' name to Castis. Thanks, Bioware.


	12. Chapter 12

Over the next month, Sam's bar had become a regular refuge for Adrien. The dingy atmosphere wasn't exactly where one would think to look for a Primarch in his free time, which made it the perfect hide-away. As a bonus, the patrons that frequented the bar largely kept to themselves for the most part, likely seeking the place out for the same reasons Victus did. After all, the majority of Palaven's population is turian and most turians aren't interested in drinks served by a krogan.  
  
The proprietor himself didn't talk much, though he proved to be more generous than the scowl he wears would lead one to think. He never did indulge Garrus on the origins of his unusual-for-a-krogan name and Garrus eventually stopped prodding. Although there was a moment, while in a drunken haze, Garrus' eyes narrowed suspiciously on the krogan.  
  
“Sam, have we met before?” He asked.  
  
“You were on Omega, right?” Sam replied.  
  
“Yeah,” Garrus answered slowly.  
  
“Probably from there.”  
  
Garrus continued to stare at the krogan a moment longer before apparently losing interest and returning to his drink.  
  
Naash would find a position at the door, sometimes outside, sometimes in, which granted Victus even further refuge from unwanted attention. Occasionally he would take the seat to Victus' left for a quick drink of his own, trading jabs between himself and the normally quiet Sam, but he never lingered long, preferring his post at the door. The krogan was certainly dedicated to his position as Victus' bodyguard-er... _krant,_ but Victus had to wonder, with a small twinge of guilt, if that had more to do with fear of the Primarch changing his mind about whether he and his mate could truly stay.

After only a couple nights spent at the bar, Victus quickly learned what it was about the place that drew Garrus in the first place. It wasn't the quiet atmosphere or the introverted patrons or the bartender himself. It was the fact that every vid-screen in the establishment was either permanently off (likely due to damage from the war) or they played nothing but the same, mindless, repeat advertisements on an endless loop, that was easily drowned out as background noise. Most notably, none of the ads in the loop contained any mention of the late Commander Shepard.  
  
It was a conclusion Victus arrived at without even needing to ask him. The woman had become even more of a legend posthumously than she ever was in life. As he grew more aware of the poorly programmed Shepard VIs frequenting shops around him and news stations that, on a daily basis, _“found one more scoop about Commander Shepard,”_ the media blackout that was Sam's bar must have been a breath of fresh air for the younger turian.

In truth, Victus didn't know how Garrus did it; going every day with his dead bondmate staring at him from holo-screens in all directions. To be forced to watch as she was reduced to a cheap advertisement to push even cheaper merchandise. It had to be maddening. Seeing it made Adrien understand why Garrus had taken to hard drugs after returning to what was left of civilization. It served as a quick solution to blur out the constant reminder of what he had lost. Her image is inspirational for all in the galactic community with the exception of one scarred up turian. The one turian that truly knew her. Truly loved her. Truly lost her.

Garrus hadn't touched red sand since their encounter in his apartment, but Victus certainly did not begrudge the man his drink at the end of the day. He managed to keep smiling, joking and, despite the slight hitch in his step from his leg injury, he almost regained the old swagger he used to have. Though, some days were better for him than others.  
  
On his good days, he would share happy memories of Commander Shepard and the _Normandy_ crew. Unsurprisingly, his favorite stories to talk about were the woman's unparalleled sniping abilities.  
  
“With the exception of yours truly, of course,” he made sure to tack on before explaining how the two of them would keep score of the head-shots between them.

“And Cerberus _really_ made our game fun when they started throwing those poor bastards with handheld shields at us. You see, they had this one thin, horizontal slat they would peek through as they advanced on us. That little slat was their undoing every single time especially after we decided that it was worth double points to shoot their eye out through it.” Garrus grinned at the memory. “Needless to say, our squad mates quickly learned to simply leave those guys to Shepard and I.”

Garrus didn't always talk about Shepard's prowess in battle though. Sometimes, after a few drinks, he would discuss little things about the woman that few people knew about.  
  
“You might not know this, Victus, but humans have this funny tick that I used to use against Shepard all the time. Never failed to piss her off. All you have to do is open your mouth wide, like this,” and he demonstrated by stretching his jaw open, his eyes squinting with apparent exhaustion, “and push air out. It's called 'yawning' and when humans see themselves or other creatures do it, they can't help but do it back. It's hilarious every time, especially when they try to fight it.”

Some nights, however, weren't as easy. Those were the nights Garrus would talk very little and Adrien knew better than to pry. Those were the nights Adrien would take his turn telling stories. Often they centered around Magrim or his old platoon or, with more frequency, work. Safe subjects.

Tarquin was not a topic he counted in that category. Not after the first night the two took solace in their cups. He still hadn't confessed the arrival of Tarquin's ashes and at this point, he didn't think he would. They had their spot on his shelf at home, where they would stay.  
  
“So, now that you're moving on to bigger and better things...” Garrus began one night.  
  
Victus snorted as he accepted his iced horosk from Sam's offering hand.

“Nothing's certain. I can still refuse, you know,” he reminded him.  
  
“But if you don't, what does that mean for...” Garrus trailed off, his eyes fixating on his own glass, mandibles fluttering nervously.  
  
“For you?” Victus offered.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“It means you'll have to make your decision soon. Do you want the position or not?”  
  
Garrus turned his eyes to him, his expression thoughtful, and asked, “And if I don't want it, you'll accept my abdication?”

“I will,” Adrien replied. He had to at this point. By Hierarchy standard, Garrus had fulfilled his requirement to spend some time around his potential position. He would be able to see what it entails and judge if he is adequate enough.  
  
“The thing is... I don't know that I want my dad to have to take it over. He's enjoying working again, but he deserves his retirement and for me to abdicate just feels like I'm pushing my responsibilities onto him.”  
  
“He can abdicate as well,” Victus pointed out.  
  
“Who's next in line?” He asked.  
  
“A man named, Quentius Leril,” he answered. “He's competent and has shown an openness to work with other races. Well spoken, if a little naive, but I think he'd do fine.”

“That's reassuring,” Garrus remarked dryly.  
  
Victus grinned at his companion. “I've done the heavy lifting, Vakarian. Soon the Primarch position will return to how it's been for centuries; maintain the status quo.”  
  
“In other words; just don't fuck up.”  
  
“Exactly,” Victus confirmed.

“I don't know, Victus. Believe it or not, you're going to be leaving some pretty large boots to fill. How many other Primarchs can say they established a relay link between our solar system and the humans?”

“To be fair, I didn't exactly have a choice,” he felt the need to point after taking a sip from his glass. “It was that or starve to death. Some would argue that the link isn't a good thing and they might be ultimately correct on that. It could potentially open a back door for an invasion in the future.”  
  
“Or unite us closer than even the relationship between salarians and asari.”

Now that was a sobering thought. The turian military, even after the reapers, is still far more formidable in strength and numbers than the other races. The Systems Alliance have proven themselves a formidable force in their own right and together, what could stand against them?

Victus chased that train of thought down the path he knew best: War.

He could honestly say that he, for the most part, trusted Wrex's intentions to lead the krogan down a better path than before. However, with the genophage cured, he had to wonder what would happen if Wrex died?

What are the odds of another rebellion happening when the krogan population, inevitably, outgrows their colony worlds like last time?

No doubt, the races would ban together again and, unlike last time, it would be more than simply the asari and salarians having to deal with it at the start. Next time, the combined forces of humans and turians would be there at the beginning. Victus found himself sincerely doubting that even another krogan rebellion would be successful against them.

_'Something to discuss with Hackett during our next vidcomm.'_

“Only time will tell,” Adrien sufficed to say.  
  
“Still, hell of a thing.” Garrus paused to drink from his glass. As he savored the taste, his expression was reflective as he pondered his words. “I told Shepard, when the war was over, Palaven would need someone that could hold a hammer. You were that person, Victus. You're rebuilding Palaven, stopping only to bring fresh meat to the workers so they have something substantial to eat. Pretty sure a turian leader hasn't done that in- oh... three thousand years? And lets not forget winning a hand-to-hand brawl with an eight-hundred pound krogan.”  
  
“Hey now!” Naash called from across the bar. “He sucker punched me. In a real fight he wouldn't have stood a chance.”  
  
Victus flashed a glib smile at the approaching krogan and responded with, “Forgive me, Naash. I wasn't aware krogan were in the habit of making excuses.”  
  
“It's not an excuse,” Naash insisted as he moved to take a seat beside Victus. His voice rumbled with indignation.  
  
Victus waved Sam over so that he would place a drink in front of his krogan companion. He then turned to Naash and said, “If you're going to blame your losses on outside circumstances then you better be prepared to credit your victories to them as well.”  
  
Naash only responded by grumbling his irritation as he took a deep swig from his tankard.  
  
On rare occasions, Garrus sought advice. Granted, he always approached the subjects with a lot of awkwardness and nervous mandible flutters and it was always after he was several drinks into the conversation.  
  
“So how long after... you know... did you wait to...?” Garrus' tentative question trailed off, unsure how to finish. His sub-harmonics reverberated the insecurities behind his query.  
  
“To start having sex with others? Almost immediately.”  
  
“Really?” Garrus asked, surprised at Adrien's clear-cut answer.  
  
Adrien could only meet Garrus' surprised face with a sad smile and explained, “grief is a funny thing, Vakarian.”  
  
Something about his answer clearly dissatisfied the younger turian. He glanced away from Adrien and narrowed his eyes at a particular knot in the polished wood surface.  
  
“You haven't at all since you've been back?” Adrien asked. His voice was gentle, but Garrus grimaced at the question all the same.  
  
“No, I... I don't think I'm ready for that.”  
  
Adrien offered a sympathetic hum.  
  
“I didn't know Commander Shepard well, but from what I know of her, I think she'd want you to be happy. You won't feel the same about someone else like you did for her, but you can still build something.”  
  
“Have you?”  
  
Victus took a second to lift his glass to his mouth to further loosen his tongue with the liquid courage.  
  
“No,” he said with a finality to his tenure. “I absorbed myself in my work, preferring short trysts to settling down again. I decided a long time ago that that chapter of my life is over.”  
  
“So, who's the lucky girl that found herself in bed with the Primarch?” Garrus asked with a teasing lilt to his tone.  
  
“Afraid you'll have to be more specific than that.” Victus tried not to feel insulted with the way Garrus gaped at him. “The women I tend to take to bed all have one thing in common; They had all lost their bondmates too. Before you ask, no, it's not a kink of mine. It's the simplicity of it. I can close my eyes and imagine Magrim in the same way my partners can close their eyes and do the same unto me. It's... mutually beneficial for both involved. There's no judgment or resentment on either part if one were to accidentally call the wrong name, and spirits know I have.”

Adrien's right mandible quirked at the thought.  
  
“How?” Garrus asked, dubious. “In what situation would somebody not run off after that?”  
  
Adrien shook his head. “Plenty. I've made some wonderful friends over the years. You have to look at it like a... symbiotic relationship. There's a comfort in it. If anything, I think it's complimentary to fuck someone so well that they forget their loss, even if it's just for a short time.”  
  
A look that could only be described as sympathy showed on Garrus' face as he said, “'Short time'. I heard it gets harder to last long as you get older.”  
  
“Taking jabs at an old soldier's age now?” Adrien shook his head in mock-umbrage while he emitted an exaggerated sigh.  
  
“Oh please,” Garrus huffed a laugh. “What're you, forty-three, forty-four?”  
  
“Fifty-one.”  
  
“Oh.” His smile slid away in the wake of his apparent embarrassment. “So when the Relay 314 Incident happened, you would have been-”  
  
“I was twenty-two when I set foot on Shanxi. Yes,” and because he knew he was wondering, “Tarquin was born eight years later.”  
  
Garrus looked away from him, redirecting his gaze to once again burn holes into the wooden surface of the bar. His silence was all the information Victus needed to see the mathematics going on in Garrus' head. No doubt, calculating Tarquin's age at his death.

Uncomfortable with where he feared the next line of questioning would go, Victus decided to beat him to the next topic.  
  
“Did the 314 Incident ever have an impact on your relationship with the Commander? I would think with her being Alliance it would...”  
  
“No,” Garrus answered immediately.

Adrien felt the need to retaliate after the age joke so he was quick to come back with, “You two role-played First Contact War sex, didn't you?”  
  
Truly, he meant it as a joke, but by the way Garrus' mandibles flared with shock before he'd been able to control them told Victus all he needed to know. He emitted a sharp bark of laughter just as Garrus opened his mouth to voice his denial.  
  
“No!” He snapped, but it was too late. The damage was done.  
  
“Spirits, you did!” Adrien exclaimed, his smile growing feral. “I can't believe you're actually embarrassed. I-well, I should say, _you_ had the misfortune of being walked in on by the Primarch of Palaven. I can't imagine something being more embarrassing than that.”

“And here I was hoping you'd forgotten about that,” Garrus grumbled, clearly unamused.

“Not a chance.” Adrien's toothy grin only served to deepen Garrus' scowl as he glowered at the wall in an attempt to look anywhere else but at him. After several heartbeats, Adrien took pity on him and clapped a friendly hand on the back of Garrus' cowl.  
  
“I'm sorry, Vakarian. Spirits know I'd do the same were I with a human.” He leaned closer to Garrus, aiming to catch his eye before adding, “And I actually lived it.”  
  
“Yup.” Garrus nodded his head as if confirming a private thought to himself. “I definitely could have gone without hearing that.”

“Sorry,” Adrien repeated, doing his best to stifle any further laughter. “I'll stop.”  
  
Unfortunately, as an awkward silence settled between them, Adrien would discover that, while his formidable willpower is something to be admired on a battlefield, it was powerless against his enjoyment of goading the younger turian beside him. He raised his glass to his mouth, took a long sip and as he settled the glass on the counter, he leaned sideways into Garrus' space and sallied, “Did she call you skull-face during?”  
  
Garrus continued to glare at the various colored liquor bottles that had been assorted on the shelves in front of him. His mandibles fluttered in agitation.

“You're making me seriously consider why I hang out with you.”

 

* * *

 

The next time Victus would sit with Garrus after that conversation, he knew immediately what kind of night it was going to be. Instead of initiating an easy banter as Adrien took up residence at his usual spot, Garrus sat quietly, wordlessly swirling the liquor in his glass. Was he still upset over their last conversation?  
  
Guilt began to well up within Adrien's chest. His sub-vocals thrummed a genuine apology as he uttered, “Look, Garrus. I'm sorry. I took that whole First Contact joke too far.”  
  
Garrus merely shook his head, deflecting Victus' apology, but continued to remain silent. The quiet continued on between them for several more heartbeats.  
  
“No it's... it's not that. The reason I asked you how long you waited is because I... met someone. Today we tried to... but I just couldn't do it.” If said in any other way, Adrien knew he would have made a _'couldn't get it out of your plates,'_ joke. That or maybe, _'your own kind doesn't do it for you anymore, huh?'_ But the anguish in his friend's voice cut through his chest like a knife, rendering the barbs on his tongue.

In place of jests, Adrien commented, “I guess closing your eyes and thinking of your bondmate doesn't work so well when your bondmate is human.”  
  
Garrus shook his head miserably.  
  
“Humans are in short supply on Palaven, but have you considered asari? Their bodies are similar enough-”  
  
“I'm not attracted to humans,” Garrus said, cutting off Adrien's suggestion. “I'm attracted to _her_.”  
  
To that, Adrien had no response. He could only pity Garrus. He was a man longing for a woman he could no longer have and he was unable to find solace in an alternative the way Adrien can. Turian women have hide and plates in place of soft skin and hair. Sharp angles instead smooth, rounded ones. The crux of the matter is that it's not even the physical traits that drew him to Commander Shepard; it was the woman herself.

 _'And who in this galaxy can even hope to compare themselves to her?'_  
  
Something about the way Garrus stared at a knot in the wood gave Victus the inclination that his thoughts were mirrored in the younger turian. The two sat quietly as the bar continued to bustle around them. Glasses clunked against wooden tables and a few patrons belted out boisterous laughter with their comrades from somewhere behind them.  
  
“When I was marooned on that planet,” Garrus eventually went on. “The crew-well... _Kaiden_ actually, wanted to have a service for her.” The anguish in his voice had soured into something bitter, especially at the mention of the human name. “I didn't want it, but he not only insisted, he wanted me to place the _fucking_ plate. It was the same nameplate I have. The one you almost...”

“I wasn't actually going to go through with snapping it,” Adrien gently explained. “It was merely a means to get through to you.”

Garrus nodded his understanding.  
  
“I know that now,” he said, briefly twitching his mandibles into a feeble smile. “But as I'm sure you can guess, I didn't put the plate up. I... couldn't. _'She can't be dead,'_ I told myself. _'After all that work. After everything we've been through, she just can't be!'_ I felt it would be nothing short of a betrayal if I put that plate up... That doing so would be to give up on her. If the roles were reversed I _know_ she'd feel the same. I _know_ that she wouldn't put my name on that wall until she knew for sure.” Desperation began to seep into the tenure of his voice and Garrus broke off in an attempt to rein it in.  
  
“What are you saying, Garrus?” Adrien kept his voice considerate as he asked, though he already knew the answer.  
  
“She's still listed M.I.A, Adrien.” He winced slightly at the gravity the use of his first name elicited. It was spoken by a man desperate to reach out to his friend. “ _Not_ K.I.A. Why?”  
  
His voice began to rise.  
  
“ _Why?_ What if the alliance knows something and for whatever fucked up reason, they're not disclosing it? What if she's out there somewhere and she needs me?” Garrus closed his hands into tight, trembling fists. “And I'm just sitting here, thinking of trying to move on when she's out there and she needs someone at her six?”

“This has been on your mind for a while, hasn't it?” Adrien formed the words as a statement, not an actual question. His eyes flickered momentarily between Garrus' hands and his increasingly tense stare.

“Every day that passes without change to her status...” Those fevered, blue eyes became a laser dot against Adrien's face. “Adrien... I don't think she's dead.”

With those words, Garrus had officially laid his cards on the table. Now he sat stone-still, watching for Adrien's reaction, any indication for his next play.

The Primarch was careful not to give him one.  
  
“You have to understand, Garrus,” he slowly began. “I was on Earth when they were rescuing survivors trapped on the Citadel. She was of the highest priority, only second to the Council. If she was there, they would have found her.”  
  
“She _was_ there!” Garrus snapped. “She left me on the ship and ran towards that beam, Victus!”  
  
“Her body could have been obliterated.” As he had done with Tarquin, Victus forced himself to look past the horror that registered on the younger turian's face at his cold words. However, Garrus was quick to recover.  
  
“What if they _did_ find her?” He retorted immediately, leaning closer into Victus' space. “What if they did and they're hiding it?”  
  
“From the galactic community? From her own crew?” Adrien clipped out, allowing his sub-vocals to reflect his skepticism. “She wouldn't allow that.”  
  
“Maybe she can't help it. Maybe she's in trouble!”  
  
“For what purpose, Garrus? What would they gain from doing that?”  
  
Finally seeing the fallacy in his logic, Garrus shrunk away from the Primarch, his posture deflating on his stool.

He looked utterly defeated.  
  
“I... I don't know,” he confessed. Then his eyes locked on to Adrien's and they stared imploringly, his misery emanating from them. “You think I'm crazy, don't you?”  
  
“Not at all. I know exactly what you're thinking, and believe me when I say I know how _badly_ you want it to be true. Spirits, _I_ want it to be true.” Once again, he steeled himself against the hard flinch he knew he'd see on his friend's face in the wake of his next words. “She's dead, Garrus. Sooner or later you're going to have to accept that.”

The Primarch watched as his remark bit into Garrus. His scarred, asymmetric face grimaced at the pain, but his eyes never wavered from his own. Several, tense heartbeats later, Garrus' fringe slashed the air as he shook his head in denial. His eyes, once again, bore into Victus.  
  
“Adrien, _please_ ,” he begged. “For some reason, I can't reach Liara and-” Garrus' mouth snapped shut with an audible click. After a short pause to gather his thoughts, he continued, “I came to you because you're the only one that can help me. You're the only one that can actually _do_ something about it.”

Adrien recognized the poorly covered backpedal for what it was. He took mental note to question it later.

Amber met ice as the sound of the looping vid-screen ads and the murmur of the bar's patrons seemed to fade away as the silence lengthened. Adrien wanted to give a final word on the matter, to drop the discussion and leave, but he already knew he wouldn't. Couldn't. He stared into Garrus' face and couldn't help but see himself looking back. He was around Garrus' age when he lost Magrim, and with no body to put to rest, he was left just as desperate for answers. For closure. He knew the pain Garrus felt all too well. That was why, against his better judgment, Adrien relented with a gusty sigh. Despite all the progress Garrus had made in his recovery, this was an absolute setback and Adrien had to recognize himself as the enabler he was.

Still, Garrus took his exhale as a victory. His mandibles flared in the most grateful grin Victus had ever seen him wear.  
  
“I can't promise you anything.” Adrien was quick to say before Garrus could give voice to the hopes that were already too high. “Admiral Hackett and I are scheduled for a vidcomm on Lunae morning to discuss embassy establishments between Palaven and Earth. I... will bring up Commander Shepard's status then.”

The look in Garrus' eyes intensified even further. He could see the unspoken gratitude, hear it in his sub-harmonics, which only served to make him feel worse about his decision. This was going to do nothing except hurt his friend more in the end.  
  
Before Garrus could open his mouth to give voice to his gratitude, Adrien was quick to silence him.

“Don't thank me yet.”

 

* * *

 

At 0700 Lunae morning, the Primarch strode into the communications office to find Solona already at her station.

“Morning, sir,” she greeted. “Comm chamber is ready when you are. Firewalls are in place as well as some nasty counter viruses if any attempt is made against our systems.”  
  
Victus paused in his route toward the chamber. He turned his gaze onto Solana. “Counter viruses?”  
  
Solana grinned wickedly. “If they make any attempt to send a worm through the comm, their systems are going to be absolutely flooded with... less than cultured images and videos.”

“Turian-human porn?”  
  
“Of course, sir.”  
  
“You and I are going to get along just fine,” he said, vocals humming with approval before he stepped past the chamber door, allowing it to shut behind him with a _hiss_. After several moments, a full holographic version of Admiral Hackett appeared before him.

“Primarch Victus,” he greeted, sounding professional as ever. “You look well.”

“Thank you, Admiral. You as well,” the last words were a lie. Hackett stood tall, for a human, with his hands folded behind his back, but there was something different about him. He still looked the epitome of professionalism. Hell, the difference between the way this conversation was beginning compared to the beginning of his comm with Wrex was almost laughable. Despite that, there was a weariness to the human, a few extra wrinkles around his eyes.  
  
“How goes reconstruction?” Adrien decided to ask.  
  
“On schedule,” Hackett replied, but the unspoken _'not as fast as Palaven's'_ was there, which Victus deduced was the case for the other worlds as well. He knew that had far more to do with the fact that nearly every citizen on Palaven was a trained militant than it did with his abilities as a leader. Unlike Earth and the other worlds, Palaven has no true civilians. Every city, every town, every neighborhood resisted.

 _'The reapers picked the wrong fucking target,'_ Victus thought with pride.

“That's good to hear,” the Primarch sufficed to say. “Now that we can actually put to use the link between our relays, we can accelerate things immensely.”

The communication would stretch to nearly an hour. They began with discussion of trade, resources and tech geared towards reconstruction of Earth. Victus agreed to send a few ships carrying a crew of technicians as well as volus delegates for financial matters in exchange for experimental V.Is. He could already see the smile on Solana's face for that one.

Next, they discussed the potential for joint military training both on Earth and Palaven. It would be a small faction, of course, not a full merging of the military forces. The galaxy wasn't quite ready for that and, frankly, Victus wasn't either. The benefit of a small faction would be an immediate and, above all, powerful solution for the rise of piracy that was sure to happen while the galactic community licked its wounds. It would also be an effective way to secure a lasting alliance with Palaven's new neighbors.

Lastly, to tie it all together, they discussed embassies. Before the invasion, Palaven had a human embassy and vice-versa, but it was a formality at best. The most notable thing it accomplished was coordinating the joint construction of the _SSV Normandy._ It was beneficial towards putting the Relay 314 Incident in the past, of course, but ultimately it was part of the reparations the Hierarchy was forced to pay the humans. This time would be different. Whether he remained Primarch or not, Victus would make sure of that.

“There was a time, Admiral, when I likely shot at you,” Victus said, flicking his mandibles into grin. “Now, I foresee our alliance bringing a very bright future for our worlds.”

That was when Hackett smiled, genuinely, for the first time in their hour-long conversation. “Starting as enemies, ending as allies.”  
  
Adrien nodded his affirmation. As their conversation inched towards its conclusion, he prepared himself for the last topic of discussion. The one Hackett would not be expecting.

“One more thing, Admiral, before you go,” he began. “As I'm sure you know my adviser, Garrus Vakarian, was a loyal member of Commander Shepard's crew. On his behalf I feel the need to ask if there has been any word or change on Commander Shepard, specifically her status? She is still listed M.I.A.”

At the mention of the Commander, something shifted in Hackett. It was slight. So slight that Victus would have missed it had he not been staring at the man. The weariness in his face, at the start of the conversation had returned. Hackett was quick to recompose himself.  
  
“At the very least,” Victus continued, now eyeing Hackett suspiciously. “My adviser can have closure if her remains are found."  
  
"That's a negative,” Hackett responded, cold, clipped. “But we still have search parties combing the Citadel.”  
  
"I see,” was his plain response to hide his growing skepticism... as well as his understanding that Hackett had just outright lied to him. Search parties had been called off the Citadel months ago. Hackett was no politician, and Victus knew he certainly wasn't stupid, but how was he capable of such a blatant mistake?

All at once, Victus' instincts screamed that something was very wrong. Still, he kept his predatory eyes fixed on the graying human. To the man's credit, he didn't start fidgeting like most humans would in his place, which was unfortunate. He had to see another reaction again in order to confirm his doubts.

"That's a shame to hear, Admiral,” Victus drawled, allowing a low growl to underline his words. “After all, she is a hero to my people as well. No doubt, every one of them would stop at nothing to find her." Victus let the sentence settle between them as the thinly-veiled threat they both understood it to be. Both General and Admiral had stilled, drawing themselves to their full heights, their gazes locked.  
  
"As would we all, Primarch,” Hackett continued after several seconds ticked by. “The minute something changes, I will let you know personally. Now, if there's nothing else you need, there are matters that require my attention."  
  
Victus took a moment to bore his eyes into Hackett before concluding with, "Nothing further, Admiral. I thank you for your time."  
  
As the call ended, the chamber door behind him opened with a hiss. A presence stepped up behind him. "He's hiding something," said the feminine, dual-toned voice of Solana.  
  
"Undoubtedly," Victus confirmed, his eyes still lingering on the spot where Hackett's holographic self had stood. The two remained motionless, gathering their thoughts when the lights that illuminated the chamber began to flicker around them.  
  
Confused, the two turians glanced around. All tech could have problems, of course, but the comm chamber had never behaved this way before. He was about to turn to Solana for an explanation, but something about the flickering captured and held his gaze a little longer. There was something about it that called out to him, specifically, the General in him. As he watched, he began to notice a pattern.  
  
Three long flashes, followed by the quick succession of three fast-paced ones, back to a chain of three long flashes again. It repeated. Victus watched the flashes as they continued to cycle through five more times before he finally turned to Solana. As their gazes met, he knew she saw the same thing he did.  
  
A Hierarchy SOS signal.


	13. Chapter 13

A million thoughts ran through his skull as the Primarch and Solana lingered in the flickering chamber. His eyes had returned to the spot Hackett's holographic form had been standing as he tried to parse through it all.

Something had definitely changed in Hackett when he brought up Commander Shepard, that much was certain, and it was enough to set the General in him on edge. Up until that point, their communication was civil, even pleasant, but the tone changed the second her name dropped. Hackett's posture became that of someone hiding crucial information and even, upon reflection, nervousness over being caught. Was it fear of being caught by _him_ or maybe it was fear of being caught by the people monitoring the comm?

Privately, Adrien harbored a small hope that it was the latter. While he didn't think he knew him well enough to call him a friend, he still liked Hackett. When he was marooned on Earth, Victus had considered him one of the few consistently in his corner while they reluctantly sat in the Conference Office. Absurdly, Wrex would join that list as well and the three of them made up some sort of rag-tag trio to endure the scourge that was Dalatrass Linron and Irissa Asteria.

He didn't consider Steven Hackett a friend, no, but a deceiver? That didn't sit right with Victus either.

Contrarily, what if he knew something the whole time, even while Victus was on Earth?

On that thought, Victus' glanced around, taking in the flickering lights around him as they repeated the same pattern over and over again. What if Hackett was the one who sent this message when the comm ended?

What if this was his way of discreetly calling for help?  
_  
'Or what if it's a trap?'_ The General thought.

“Got it,” said Solana from behind just as the lights ceased their flickering and returned to a steady glow. Then he heard her gasp. Alarmed, he whipped around and found her face locked in a cringe.  
  
“What?” He asked.  
  
Sheepishly, she replied, “remember that counter virus I mentioned? Well it interpreted this SOS signal as a virus.”  
  
“So it sent...”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect,” he mumbled as he moved to pass the younger turian.

When he reached the door, she spoke up from behind him again. Her voice was soft and hesitant as she asked, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”  
  
Concerned at her sudden change of tone, he turned around and found her arms wrapped protectively around herself. Her body huddled while she fixed her gaze on the floor.  
  
“Granted,” he replied.  
  
She took a shaky breath and all but whispered, “please don't tell Garrus about this. At least not yet.”

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. He fixed Solana with a scrutinizing stare and asked, “you want me to withhold my doubts that your brother's bondmate is actually dead?”

She visibly winced at the question.  
  
“No,” she responded quickly. Her eyes lifted from the floor and fixed him with a pleading stare. “I'm begging you to wait until we have proof.”

Victus stilled. His amber eyes were fixed in an unrelenting stare, silently queuing her to continue.

“With respect, sir, we don't know anything for sure. This could be something or it could be nothing.” Her arms unraveled from her waist and she took a step toward the Primarch. “He's made so much progress since you stepped in. It's been weeks since the last time I showed up at his apartment and found it wrecked because he started throwing things at some point while he was alone.”  
  
Another step.  
  
“I also met the girl he started seeing recently and... I like her. She's really nice and seems to care for my brother. I... I just don't want him to throw all that away if this turns out to be nothing and he _would_."  
  
"Don't you think that's his choice to make?" He countered.  
  
"Of course I do," she pleaded earnestly. "But when it comes to Commander Shepard, he doesn't think straight. He already lost her once before and he nearly got himself killed over it. If he gets so much as a whisper of what happened here he'll be on a shuttle for Earth faster than you can say ' _pass the graxen._ ' And if... if this turns out to be nothing, it'll be like he lost her all over again.” Now emboldened, she took another step towards him and her voice began to shape into something much more confident. Victus allowed her to continue.  
  
“On a political scale, telling him before we have proof could be disastrous. I love Garrus, but he's a hot head. Always has been. Sure he's gotten better, but like I said he doesn't think clearly when it comes to Commander Shepard. He'll kick down every door that closes in front of him, crack every skull to get information until he finds her.” She stood inches from him now, her posture tall and confident in contrast to the meek way she had begun her retort. She suddenly looked every bit her own politician as she boldly stared down the Primarch. “I don't think I need to remind you what it could do to our potential alliance with Earth if your adviser is turned loose on them like that.”

There was a defensive growl present to her sub-harmonics that wasn't there before, giving off a clear message of protectiveness for the brother in question. Many would find it insubordinate, but Victus found it brave, especially since she was supposed to be the _little_ sister in the relationship. Her posture remained tall like stalwart sentinel.  
  
“Alright, Solana,” he began with a nod. “You've made your case. I will refrain from informing Garrus of this meeting-” His eyes hardened. “- _for now._ Know that I won't be able to keep it from him for long.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said with a curt nod. She then smiled as she pivoted the subject. “On a more positive note, I was able to trace the location the SOS signal came from.”  
  
Victus' hardened stare softened to regard her curiously. “London?”  
  
Solana shook her head. “A city called Vancouver.”

“Noted,” he said, and he at last turned away from her to search for a private place to gather his thoughts and, hopefully, come up with the best decision to figure out this cluster-fuck he'd gotten himself into.

 

* * *

 

His feet beat a repetitive path back and forth in his office as the hours crept late into the night. Han had long since left, but not before fixing the restless Primarch with, what Victus could only assume, a worried look. His mind had been racing over his conversation with Hackett, trying to piece it together and replaying it over and over. He didn't even know where to begin or if what he saw was even worth worrying about. He could acknowledge that Solana was correct. That his suspicions were entirely circumstantial. All the same, the General chafed at the knowledge that something possibly nefarious was occurring right under his nose and he demanded to investigate it. The question was how?

It would be ineffective to just call Hackett and start grilling him and expect to get answers. That would do little more than alert his quarry of its hunter, but if Commander Shepard was alive, he felt a need- no, an _obligation_ to do something. If she needed help, he wanted to help her and not just for Garrus' sake. Not because she's the savior of the whole damn galaxy. No. He recognized that his desire to help her ran on a personal level. She was there for Tarquin in his final moments, encouraging him after he came to the realization that his father had thrown him into a situation he wasn't prepared for.

Adrien Victus was the type of turian, like Garrus, that didn't consider himself a _'good turian.'_ He wouldn't consider himself honorable and he certainly would take, what many would deem, unnecessary risks during missions if it meant getting out of it with the same number of men as he did going in. _Service before self_ was important to him. He wouldn't have gotten far in the military if it wasn't, but he was a turian that saw occasional exceptions to that rule especially when a friend was involved.

 _'You owe Commander Shepard,'_ the Father in him said. _'She was good to Garrus, your friend, and he loves her. She was good to you and was nothing but welcoming when you boarded her ship. Most of all, she was good to Tarquin. Spirits, you heard her voice when she called out to him as he plummeted to his death.'_

He winced at the thought. ****  
_  
'She's one human,'_ the Primarch reminded him. _'One human is not worth causing strife with an ally especially one you now share a relay with, regardless of who she is.'_

That thought carried with it a cold truth and he felt the need to shut his eyes. To close it out.

 _'Even if she is alive somewhere,'_ the General chimed in. _'You have no solid plan or even coordinates to execute a successful rescue mission. Your only lead is a city on Earth and there's no guarantee to its accuracy or if she's even there.'_

The abrasive sound of his omni-tool tore his attention from his thoughts and brought his eyes down to his wrist. It was Naash.

“Primarch, you wouldn't believe who's shown up here wanting to see you,” he growled after Victus took the call. “It's Sam.”  
  
Victus paused, confused. The name didn't register as quickly as it probably should have. Not because of a lack of familiarity, but due to the context of it. The krogan had never gone out of his way to speak with him outside of the bar, let alone at his office.

His pause must have lasted a beat too long because Naash felt the need to supply, “the bartender.”

“I know. Send him up, Naash. It's alright.”

“If you're sure. I'll be right outside the door,” he growled. Victus got the impression the last part was meant for their visitor.

Victus forced his restless body into his seat while he waited for the krogans to make their way for his office. It was several minutes before the door parted down the middle and withdrew into the walls with a _hiss,_ permitting the familiar green-plated krogan to enter. Instead of crossing the threshold, he simply stood in the doorway with his hands politely folded in front of him in a very un-krogan stance.  
  
“Good evening, Primarch Victus,” said Sam with a tone far more polite than any krogan Adrien had ever heard. “Apologies for the intrusion. May I come in?”

That was the single longest sentence he had ever heard out of the bartender's mouth. Adrien had to struggle to pacify his facial expression after it had screwed into a scrutinizing stare. The sheer amount of unexpected politeness was enough to cause him to glance quickly at the drawer containing his sidearm pistol. Then he attempted to conceal the look by reaching for a useless data pad before bringing his eyes back to the krogan.

' _If he wanted me dead, he's had plenty of opportunities to poison me.'_ On that cheery thought, Adrien nodded and made to gesture to the chair in front of his desk, only to hesitate when he realized it was too small to accommodate Sam's considerable bulk. Sam apparently recognized the seating predicament and he dismissed it with a courteous wave of his thick hand.

“It's alright. I'll stand,” he said as he approached Victus' desk. The door _hissed_ shut behind him.

“What can I do for you, Sam?” Adrien asked, bracing his elbows on his desk and steepling his hands.  
  
“It's what I can do for you, actually,” Sam replied, bringing his hands to resume their resting spot; folded in front of him. “More accurately, it's what my boss can do for you.”

“Your... boss?” Victus combed his memory for any mention or hint of a second proprietor to the bar, but his memory bank came up empty. He had never seen another worker at the bar. Sam did everything himself.  
  
The krogan gave a curt nod as if all this information was readily known to Victus.  
  
“My employer, Mr. Thax, has given me very valuable information that he thinks you'll find useful.” He held up his omni-tool. “May I?”

Understanding Sam's silent indication, Victus wordlessly raised his own and punched in the receiving code. Sam set to work on his own omni-tool and within seconds, a holographic image of Earth popped up on Victus' wrist. His eyes squinted at a set of coordinates labeled across a mass of land on the planet. He raised a finger and tapped at the coordinates, which caused the image to zoom in on the planet until a large building was brought into view. There was a tall, electric sign outside that slowly cycled through the different insignia each race uses to represent medicine.

_'A hospital.'_

After watching the sign cycle through the logos, passing the Hierarchy symbol for medicine three times, Victus looked to Sam and echoed his thoughts in the form of a question. “A hospital?”

Sam must have watched this image many times over because Victus found his yellow eyes watching him, undoubtedly, for a reaction. “ _That,_ ” Sam pointed, “Is where my employer believes Commander Shepard is being held.”

Adrien felt his stare harden on Sam's face.  
  
“That's quite an accusation. How does your employer know this?”

“Mr. Thax is in the business of information, Primarch. Even through the reaper war, he never stopped. He's very proficient in his work.”

“You make him sound like he's the Shadow Broker,” Adrien pointed.

The krogan shrugged and said, “He could be. I honestly can't say for sure. No one knows who the Shadow Broker is or if he's even still around. Between you and I, I doubt it.”

“Doubt what? That he's the Shadow Broker or that the Shadow Broker is still around?”

“Both, sir.”

“And you spy for him,” Adrien deadpanned, which elicited an absurdly bashful smile from the krogan.  
  
“I suppose I do, though not on you.”  
  
“Really?” Adrien drawled, allowing his skepticism to seep into the word.

“Really. I initially came here for the same reason the other krogan did, to fight. I _stayed_ for Mr. Thax to gather information- for business purposes, you understand,” he explained with a tone that could have been used to discuss something as mundane as financial records. “Also, I've been able to establish a surprisingly profitable business that I would regret to leave now-for myself, that is," He quickly added.

“If you're not spying on me, then why bother with this?” Adrien made a vague gesture encompassing the holographic building on his wrist along with the two of them standing in his office.  
  
“The reason is simple. My employer feels he owes Commander Shepard a debt for a favor she did for him a couple years ago on Illium. I was the correspondence that met her on his behalf. That was how I recognized Garrus.”  
  
_“Sam, have we met before?”_ Victus suddenly remembered Garrus asking.  
  
_“You were on Omega, right?”_  
  
_“Yeah."_  
  
_“Probably from there.”_  
  
“You knew who he was from the start,” Adrien pointed.  
  
Sam nodded. “Hard to forget scars like those.” **  
**

“Then why not give _him_ this information?”

“So he could do what with it?” He countered, but not rudely. “These are different times, Primarch. With the war over, the names of the _Normandy_ crew don't carry nearly the same weight they did when they were at the forefront of the resistance. People are moving on. _If_ she's alive and _if_ the Alliance is holding her, they're unlikely to just hand her over because one of her crew mates comes beating on their door. The other Primarchs, whoever is going to make up the new Council,-” Sam inclined his large head towards Victus. “- _you_ , are the real power players in this galactic game now. My employer recognizes that the best solution to assist Commander Shepard, assuming she's alive, was to bring this information to one of the players with the ability to actually _do_ something with it. It's a bonus that you're sympathetic towards Garrus and the Commander so it seemed like a reasonable bet to take.”  
  
“And if I do nothing?” Adrien parried.  
  
“Then you do nothing and my employer washes his hands of the whole thing, knowing he did all he could by bringing the information to the correct person. That you do nothing is beyond his control and, by proxy, his concern.” The corner of Sam's wide mouth quirked. “What happens next is entirely up to you, sir.”

The weight of his words pushed a pregnant silence between the room's occupants. After several heartbeats, Adrien broke it by asking, “how long has your employer had these coordinates?”  
  
Sam looked thoughtful. Undoubtedly taking a moment to select his words carefully. “How long _he's_ known; I can't say. How long _I've_ known; almost a week. I overheard you tell Garrus that you would bring up the status of Commander Shepard with the Admiral today, so I decided tonight was as good an opportunity as I was going to get, which is why I'm here.”

“So I'm to assume that your employer is doing this out of the kindness of his own heart?” Victus questioned dubiously. “I find that extremely difficult to believe,” he growled.  
  
“With respect, Primarch, you don't know my employer.”

“I know he deals in secrets. Secrets have a way of corrupting even the purest spirits. Honorable men with something to hide don't stay honorable for long.” Adrien endeavored to ignore the feeling that his words had ignited from a spark of personal experience. The way Sam's eyes fixed on him, he had to assume that the krogan suspected as much.  
  
“I feel I've taken up enough of your time, sir,” Sam said before he turned to move for the entrance. Victus didn't bother to stop him. When he reached the door he turned and bid, “Have a pleasant evening, Primarch Victus.”  
  
“Sam,” Victus called before the krogan could open the door. His large head swiveled back around to stare at him curiously from beneath his green crown. “Is that even your name?”

Another breif silence descended on the room. It only lasted for several seconds until Sam tossed his great head back and emitted the first true-krogan noise Victus had ever heard from him in the form of a deep, gravelly laugh. When his cackle eventually subsided, he flashed a big, toothy grin and quipped a simple, “no,” and left.

Adrien stared at the empty space the krogan had left in his departure, suddenly feeling the weight of his choices pressing down on him. In an effort to alleviate the pressure, he stood from his desk and allowed his feet to replicate the path they had beat before Sam's-' _or whoever he is'_ \- unforeseen arrival. However it was different now, his stride was quick and almost fevered as he warred with himself over what to do first.  
  
His initial instinct was to call Garrus so he could come over and the two of them could work out a plan of action. He paced faster.

 _'We can secure a ship. I'll send him with a small force from Black Watch in the event he needs backup.'_ Adrien shook his head in disagreement with his own thoughts. _'No. Too messy. That could be seen as a direct assault and I wouldn't be able to trust Garrus to keep his head. Not when Commander Shepard is at stake.'_

For better or for worse Earth had become, in a sense, Palaven's neighbor through their shared relay.

 _'Thanks to me,'_ he bitterly reminded himself as hindsight began to shine his actions in a less than favorable light.

He raised his omni-tool, feet never halting, to scroll through his contacts while an idea began to form in his head. What he needed was solid intel. Proof before any action could or should be taken and he knew just the person to call for it. This needed to be done delicately or risk stability between the two worlds. He learned long ago that sometimes patience is required for a mission to go perfectly. Rush in and you'll get everyone killed. Bunker down, gather intel, wait for a back door and a perfect moment to execute a strike-

His legs locked up, abruptly bringing his frantic pacing to a standstill.

_'What the fuck am I doing?'_

As much as he wanted to help the Commander, and he really did, the cold, bare bones of the matter was that she's only one person. An important person, yes, but no one individual would be worth jeopardizing an alliance with such a close and, admittedly, formidable force as the human race. They were better as allies, not enemies and if this operation was botched in any way, that's what they would become. It would be the Relay 314 Incident all over again except there's no Council to put a stop to it this time.

He swept the contacts screen away, replacing it with the newly acquired coordinates. His finger hovered over the delete icon. The Primarch roared inside him to finish his finger's descend upon it. Move on with his life and pretend he never saw it because that would be in the best interest of the whole. _Service before self._ Let the Alliance have the Commander, assuming they do, for whatever reasons they had. Surely, they'd release her in time and even if they didn't, it shouldn't be his concern. She wasn't turian. She wasn't his soldier. He had no say in her fate whatsoever, so why should he concern himself when he already has a whole planet of people that require his attention?

Then he turned his head toward his desk, his eyes falling on the exact spot Han had stood with Tarquin's urn in his arms. After a few seconds, he tore his eyes from that particular space of flooring, but that didn't stop the guilt that began to coil and twist his stomach.

She was there.

She was the last friendly face his son would see.

 _'This is why I knew I'd make a poor diplomat,'_ he thought to himself. His hand swept the holographic away in favor of his contact sheet.

He selected a name and typed out, “ _I need you to meet me at the following address. Tonight.”_   After he finished, he hesitated only briefly before he hit send.

 

* * *

 

Within an hour, he'd arrived at his apartment. Approximately seventeen minutes after his arrival, his door chimed and he hurried to allow his visitor to enter. With dark plates, crimson eyes, and that mischievous smile, Attilia stepped into his living room. She took one look at the state of her old CO and her smile faded to be replaced by an expression far more serious.

She watched as Adrien double-checked the camera at his door, making sure she wasn't followed even though he sincerely doubted it. He then raised his omni-tool. In response, the lit circle in the middle of his door glowed from green to red as he locked it behind her.  
  
“Sir?” She asked, suddenly concerned as he finally turned to look at her for the first time since he'd dismissed her months ago.  
  
“I have a job for you, Watcher,” he stated. He noticed the way she immediately snapped to attention the second his arms folded behind his back and he resumed a slow, purposeful pace as he once did when he addressed her platoon.

“I'm placing you under the Primarch's order not to breathe a word of this to anyone. Not even your superiors in Black Watch. To defy that order is to commit treason, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," she snapped.

"The following mission will take you to Earth.” Her eyes widened slightly at the planet's name. “You are to board a transport vessel that leaves at 0600. The vessel will take you to a frigate transporting engineers that are scheduled to assist Earth with rebuilding as was agreed upon by Admiral Hackett and myself.”  
  
His feet stopped directly in front of her. With his arms remaining locked at his back, he turned to fix his sharp eyes on her face. He did not miss the way she recoiled ever so slightly as he did so. Good. She needed to understand the gravity of this mission.  
  
“You are not to be detected by _anyone._ Not the pilot. Not the techs. Not the janitor,” he stressed. “No one is to know you were ever on that ship. Do I make myself clear?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” she replied immediately.

He nodded his head once and resumed his pacing. “Upon landing you are to infiltrate a hospital at the coordinates I will provide to you. Understand that you are only there to gather information on a particular patient who may or may not be there. Nothing more.”  
  
“May I ask who the patient is, sir?”

Her question halted his feet once again. He turned his gaze on her and replied, “You would know her as Commander Shepard.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. The support for this story has been amazing. Thank you everyone! I'm working on the next chapter now!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Father is finally allowed to mourn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice this is the first and likely only chapter summary I've included. I just felt it was appropriate for this chapter. Please enjoy and thank you so much for the support!

Three days had passed since Victus sent Attilia to Earth and he hadn't heard anything from her except one little text on the third evening. Of course, she hadn't sent it under her name, preferring an alias on missions like this, but with the only word of the text being, “landed,” he felt safe enough to assume it was her. He didn't expect to hear from her again as she would choose to go dark to protect both herself and him.

He trusted her. This was the sort of mission she specialized in and only became more proficient after joining the Black Watch ranks. She had to. Where the salarians had the STG, the asari had their commandos, the hierarchy had Black Watch. To be a member of such an organization took a considerable amount of skill, particularly in infiltration and espionage. She knew what she was doing. He knew that, but it didn't stop him from worrying.

He had made the decision to send her. If something went wrong, the repercussions would fall on him despite any precautions Attilia would undoubtedly take to prevent it. The thought that he had potentially sent a valuable Watcher, and his most trusted agent, on a fool's errand for a dead woman caused a torrent of anxiety to rage inside him. He couldn't sit still when awake and couldn't rest long when asleep because he found himself awakened by the same fiery nightmares that plagued his nights on Earth.

His growing fatigue wasn't the worst of it though. Once again he found himself completely alone in his disquiet. He couldn't bring himself to look Garrus in the face, not after he had resolved to keep his meeting with Hackett a secret. He hated himself for it, but the more he thought on it, the more necessity he saw in it. Sending an agent would be enough to start a war on the off chance she's caught, but to make bold accusations against your allies is _guaranteed_ to create enemies.

He immersed himself in his work, always finding a way to be too busy to meet with Garrus again. The work served as a welcome escape from the self-destructive minefield his thoughts had become. He loathed himself. He hated keeping this from his only friend. He hated that he sent Attilia. He hated the weakness he had shown when he couldn't bring himself to delete those coordinates like he knew he should have. By allowing sentimentality to get in the way, he had put peace at risk. His _people_ at risk.

He felt alone and caged within his own mind.

On the fourth day, while sitting in his chair with his eyes glued to his computer screen, he saw the rolling of Han's chair at the edge of his peripheral vision. Assuming he was simply getting ready to leave for the day, he was surprised when he approached him.  
  
“Primarch Victus,” he began, breathing through his vents. “If I may ask, are you alright?”

“Yes,” Adrien responded, never glancing away from the screen. He realized too late how cold and clipped it sounded. He blinked hard and turned his gaze down to the volus.

“I'm fine, Han,” he reiterated. “Just tired.”

“Yes.” Han nodded and then continued to stare at him with those orange optics of his, like he was trying to think of something else to say. Eventually he settled on, “your behavior has been... different lately. I'm... concerned. Do you need anything?”

Victus couldn't help but feel touched and a little surprised by the volus' unexpected concern. He offered him a smile and deflected the question with, “Going soft on me now, huh? I knew I'd grow on you eventually.”

Evidently Han had spent enough time around him at this point that he'd learned to recognize Victus' humorous pivots because he didn't take the bait. He didn't so much as chuckle at the retort.  
  
“Han,” Victus said, his voice serious. “I'll be alright. I'm just tired. Go on home. I'll be leaving soon.”

“Alright, sir,” the volus said, resigned. “But if you need anything please don't hesitate to ask.”

That earned a genuine smile from the Primarch. His sub-harmonics hummed his gratitude, despite Han being unable to hear them, and he replied with, “I haven't yet, have I?”

Then on the fifth day, Naash felt a need to confront him and he did so as he walked Victus to his skycar that night after work.

“You know, Primarch,” he began. “Toxx has been asking to meet you. You should come by sometime. We'll get some dextro meat for you and have a barbecue.”

“That sounds nice, Naash. Thank you.” For some reason, his response caused a deep frown to form on the krogan's face.  
  
“I'm serious,” the krogan growled.

“As am I,” Victus said.

“You've been acting weird,” the krogan deadpanned. Victus couldn't help but muse that Naash had likely used the very words Han had wanted to say, but felt uncomfortable doing so. Naash held no such reservations.

With a sideways glance Victus countered, “Not you too.”  
  
“Your face is normally hard to read. I mean, all turians are, but yours especially.”

“Your saying you're concerned because you're able to read my face?” Victus asked, his voice thick with skepticism.

Naash stopped suddenly. Adrien felt those large eyes burn holes in the back of his head just before he heard his low voice growl, “I'm saying the cracks are starting to show.”

Despite himself, his footsteps halted as well. Slowly, he turned to face Naash and found his yellow eyes boring into him accusingly, daring him to deny it.  
  
“Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary. I'm just tired.”  
  
“No shit,” he grumbled and Victus laughed at the bluntness of his choice of words. He found it refreshing. Honest.

“Really, thank you, Naash,” Victus said as they approached his vehicle. He flashed a smile, hoping it would be enough to placate the krogan's concerns. “You know, for a krogan, you're unusually sentimental.”

Naash just shrugged and stooped to perform his routine procedure of scanning Victus' vehicle for bugs. It was unnecessary as Victus was perfectly capable and happy to do it himself. More often than not he would end up doing it as a secondary measure anyway, but it seemed to appease his krant so he allowed it.  
  
“I know the word, 'krant', doesn't mean much to you... but it does to a krogan,” was Naash's only defense before he ducked down behind the side of the car opposite from where Victus stood. He didn't see his face long, but he saw enough to notice the worry, the vulnerability, behind that scarred, craggy face. The meaning was clear. Victus smiled at the man, having just realized in that moment that he counted him as a friend as well, despite the way they met.

“I think I understand the meaning,” Adrien assured. He then tamped down the swell of affection he felt for the large man when he glanced back up over the car and smiled at Victus in a familial way.

Fortunately, Han and Naash did not bring up their concerns for him again. Unfortunately, it didn't stop Garrus from messaging him, asking if they could meet. He declined again, using work as the same excuse he used last time. He knew it was only a matter of time before Garrus would press the issue, especially after their last conversation, which only served to increase his anxiousness for Attilia to return soon.

It was only by the third night that brought Adrien's attention to the second drawback to ceasing his bar nights with Garrus, besides the loneliness. If he wasn't working, he was alone in his apartment with only Tarquin's silent urn for company. He did his best to fix his eyes anywhere else in the apartment except that shelf, but by the sixth day, as he sat at his desk in the living room, reading Hierarchy reports on datapads, he couldn't help by risk a glance over his shoulder. Expectantly, the urn was still there. Still silent.

The quiet of the room suddenly became oppressive and he felt forced to bring up the music library on his omnitool. He selected something loud to drown out the din of silence and he tore his gaze from the urn, squinting his eyes at the next datapad he grabbed. It only held his attention for a short time, long enough for the current song to run its course and move on to the next one. A much slower, more soothing song played next and it had the unforeseen power of reminding him of the quieter days he was beginning to find harder and harder to put behind him.  
  
It tugged at a thread of memory and it called out to him like a siren. He found himself powerless to resist it.

_He stood at a bathroom sink, looking at the reflection of his much younger self in the mirror, but his wasn't the only reflection he saw. A tiny face with still-hardening plates, finally free from its cover of white down, stared back at him with the kind of admiration only a child could show to their parent. The fledgling stood on the edge of the sink, his small carapace leaning back against Adrien's chest for purchase as he balanced on slightly wobbly legs. There was no risk of him falling because his father's protective arms hovered around him, ready to perform a rescue should he need it._

_The fledgling chortled when he saw his father's reflection meet his eyes, a proud smile on his face. Then his little green eyes widened, surprised, when his father suddenly growled menacingly at the mirror, his mandibles flared in a very threatening display of his sharp teeth. Emboldened, the little turian tried his luck at a threatening display of his own, using his father's face as the template to follow. His growl was there, but ghosts of the juvenile peeping noise he used to make earlier in his life made it sound wispy and light._

_His father's face split into a wide grin at the sound and his chest vibrated with his deep chuckle, which encouraged the youngster to laugh with him. Then Adrien flared his mandibles and snarled again, flexing his arms for good measure, but now his growl was less threatening because it was tinged with his lingering laughter. His son tried again, louder this time, and did his best to imitate his father by flexing his own small arms as he did so. In response, Adrien attempted another intimidating snarl, even adding a roar to it, but it was utterly powerless against the onslaught of his own laughter that ripped through him when his son made his next attempt. His high voice shrieked sharply, cutting him off mid snarl._  
  
_“Caught,” Adrien heard and his eyes flickered over the reflection of the female turian leaning casually in the doorway behind him. She had black grease smeared across her browplate and left mandible. Her green eyes met his own and his heart gave a heavy thud against his chest when he saw the amusement shining in them. “And I absolutely got it on video.”_

 _Upon hearing his mother's voice, Tarquin turned on the spot to reach for her over Adrien's shoulder. She moved to them, taking Tarquin into her arms, wincing slightly when she moved him to her cowl._  
  
_“You're getting too big for this, little one,” she cooed, running her clean mandible across his face._

“ _I was just showing the boy how to-”_  
  
_“Don't worry, Private. Your secret's safe with me,” and she reached behind his head to pull his brow down to press against hers. He knew the action would probably leave grease smudged across his own browplate, but he couldn't find it in him to care. “No one else has to know what a big softy you are.”_

“ _You're the very spirit of kindness,” he quipped sarcastically, giving her nose a nip before pulling away._

_Her mandibles fluttered with amusement before she turned and walked out of the bathroom, lingering only long enough to call from the doorway, “Never change, Private!”_

Adrien stared at the poor datapad that had been crushed in his trembling hand. The screen flickered in and out behind its cracked surface in a sick imitation of how he pictured his own fraying sanity. Reluctantly, he turned his head to seek out the final resting place of that sweet little fledgling, lying in ashes on a shelf behind him. His body thrust up from the chair, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in his space. He pulled his boots on and raised his omni-tool, cutting off the music to pull up Garrus' name as he made his way for the door.  
  
He typed, “finished work. I'm heading to the bar.”  
  
Sam- ' _or whoever he is'_ \- met his eyes from across the room after Victus had straightened from his stoop in order to fit under the still-faulty door. There was a small voice at the back of his mind that informed him he should probably seek refuge in a different bar that didn't have an admitted spy as the proprietor, and in a different state of mind, Victus would agree. He was not in that state of mind, however. In that instant he wanted nothing more than the comfort of predictability, some constant or pattern he was used to so that he could cling to it. Anything present to avoid thinking of the past that pained him so much.  
  
The krogan gave him a confused look, as Adrien perched on his usual bar stool, probably not expecting to ever see the Primarch in his establishment again. Thankfully, he said nothing when Victus offered him the same. Instead, he turned away to pour the triple horosk over ice Adrien was so fond of and slid it in front of him. After that, he lost track of the time staring at the colored bottles lined up in front of him. He was only vaguely aware of another presence seating themselves in that familiar spot to his right, but he didn't bother to look until he'd taken two more sips from his glass. Gathering his courage he turned his head to regard Garrus as he accepted his own drink from Sam.  
  
“Hey,” Garrus offered.  
  
“Hello, Vakarian,” he replied, nodding in his direction.  
  
“You-uh... you don't look good,” he pointed.  
  
“So I've been told,” Adrien retorted.

With a mixture of fear and apprehension in his voice, Garrus hesitantly asked, “This wouldn't have anything to do with... what we talked about last time?”

Victus took another sip from his glass in an effort to ignore the way Garrus' sub-vocals hummed with worry at what his answer would be. As he set the glass down, he raised a hand to give his friend's shoulder a comforting squeeze. He took a slow breath, allowing the bitter sweetness of the horosk to sugar his next words as he looked his closest friend dead in the eye and lied.  
  
“I haven't spoken with Hackett yet. It was cancelled.”  
  
He hated himself even more.

Under his hand, Garrus visibly slumped, his vocals humming his immense disappointment. He stared at the counter like he was trying to find answers in the polished wood. “Cancelled... why?” His voice was low, sad, and the question was formed without ever tearing his eyes from the bar.  
  
“Hey.” Victus gave Garrus a small shake with the hand still placed on his shoulder. He didn't like seeing his friend like this and he liked it less that he was the cause of it.

“I can't tell you why,” he tried for a hint of truth with ambiguous wording. The alcohol was not helping in that endeavor. “But I will get to the bottom of it,” he said, leaning in to try to catch Garrus' eye. “And when I do, I'll have an answer for you.” He paused for only a beat before adding, “I promise.”

That managed to draw forth a grateful, if still sad, smile from the younger turian.

 _Suddenly Adrien was home again. He approached the door to the house he'd lived in for years and opened it to the sounds of pots and pans violently banging against each other. Alarmed, he hurried into the kitchen and found his thirteen-year-old son stuffing his beloved cookware into the trash compactor. He was struggling with how full he had made it as he pushed hard in an effort to make it all fit. All the while, his sub-harmonics hummed with equal parts of both rage and misery._  
  
_“What are you doing?”_  
  
_“What's it look like?” Tarquin snapped. Adrien blinked at the uncharacteristically high level of sass._  
  
_“It looks like you're throwing away a lot of nice cookware,” Adrien answered, keeping his voice calm to contrast his teenage son's sharp tone. Instead of answering, Tarquin gave up on making everything fit and started removing some of the pans off the top to make room._  
  
_“Why?” Adrien asked._  
  
_“Because I don't want it anymore! I hate it!”_  
  
_“That's odd,” Adrien pointed. “Just last night you were showing me a cooking tutorial of what you wanted to try preparing next.”_  
  
_“Well I hate it now,” he growled, finally looking at his father. That's when Adrien recognized the hurt he saw in his son's face._  
  
_“May I ask what changed?”_  
  
_“It's stupid!” He retorted heatedly. Victus didn't understand what, exactly, he was referring to._

“ _The reason is stupid or-?”_  
  
“- _Cooking is stupid!”_ _Then he looked away with his mandibles tight against his jaw, sub-harmonics emitting a distressed warble._ “I'm _stupid.”_

_Adrien made his way towards his son, stepping around the minefield of debris he'd created all across the kitchen floor. When he reached him, Adrien withdrew a shiny pan from the top of the heap in the trash compacter and settled himself on the floor. He patted the space of floor beside him, but when Tarquin didn't sit right away Adrien growled a warning, quickly remedying the problem. Tarquin lowered himself to the floor, situating his long, gangling limbs he still needed to grow into as he did so, but he still refused to look at him._

_Adrien flipped the pan so that the shiny backside showed his reflection and then he angled it so Tarquin's would instead. Tarquin spared the cookware one, withering look and then turned his eyes away like it had betrayed him somehow._  
  
_“I don't think you're stupid,” Adrien commented. “I think you're brilliant. Just like your mother.”_  
  
_He got no verbal response from Tarquin, but he did see his mandibles flutter at his words._  
  
“Cooking is a science. You _taught me that.” He bumped his shoulder against his son's. “All that chemistry that's involved... a stupid person couldn't do it and do it nearly as well as you do. Your mother had that same gift with tech. She was a master of her craft just as you could be a master at yours.”_  
  
_Finally, Tarquin looked at him and then down to the pan in his hand, staring at his face reflecting back on him._  
  
_“But it's not what I should be mastering,” he explained. “I have to master guns and explosives... like you.”_  
  
_“Why can't you do both?”_  
  
_“Because it's stupid to like cooking at all.”_  
  
_“Says who?”_  
  
_The next words were spoken so quietly that it was mostly his sub-vocals that were used to say them. “Guys at school.”_

_Ah. Adrien suspected as much. Turian culture never looked kindly on the artistically inclined. It was often viewed as shameful for someone's child to pursue sculpting or painting over a life of service and privately, Adrien was not completely immune to that sentimentality. Not at first, anyway. Then he saw how happy his son got when he mastered a new recipe. His face would light up brighter than Trebia's rays.  
_

_As a result, he got over that line of thinking._  
  
_“Fuck them.”_  
  
_Tarquin coughed a surprised laugh and he lifted his gaze from the pan to his father._  
  
_“I don't think you can say that,” he pointed._  
  
“ _I just did. Fuck them. Every soldier needs an outlet and this-" he gestured with the pan, "-happens to be yours. You have to remember that this part of your life will only last a short time. You'll blink and it'll be over. Use it to weed out all the shitty people around you. The ones that are supposed to be with you will be.” Adrien grinned and held the pan further from himself to encompass both his reflection and Tarquin's. “And with luck the shitty people will end up dead in an Omega back ally because they didn't bother to find the right people in_ their _lives.”_

“ _Okay. I_ know _you're not supposed to say that. You do remember these are kids my age we're talking about,” Tarquin felt the need to remind him._  
  
_“They won't be for long. In two years they'll be military. We can hope that'll fix their attitudes, but if not...” and he trailed off, allowing Tarquin to fill in the blanks, which he must have done by the way he huffed a laugh and shook his head slightly._  
  
_“I'm proud of what you can do and I know your mother would be too,” Adrien went on, his tone falling to a more serious octave. He noticed the way Tarquin tried to hide the tightening of his throat behind a cough._  
  
_“Really?”_  
  
_“Really. Spirits, I probably would have starved to death without you.” He earned a chuckle for that one._  
  
_“C'mon. No you wouldn't,” Tarquin retorted._  
  
_“Perhaps not. I'd just be eating nothing but ration bars. You're doing fine, son.” And for emphasis, he repeated, “Fuck them.”_  
  
_Tarquin's mandibles pulled into a grateful smile before he said, “Thanks dad.” Then, tentatively, he asked, “Um. Would you mind helping me clean this up?” He gestured to the wrecked kitchen around them. Adrien took a long moment to answer. As the seconds ticked by, Tarquin's eyes widened with growing horror at having to face this mess himself._  
  
_“Alright,” Adrien relented, hearing a relieved sigh as he did. “But after, I expect a push-up for every item that ended up on the floor. We'll count them as we clean.”_  
  
_“Come on!” Tarquin whined, his eyes scanning the room, zeroing in on every bit of debris he'd thrown with growing apprehension._  
  
_“Actions have consequences, son,” Adrien explained as he heaved himself from the floor. He offered a helping hand to his son and said, “and you'll have to face yours. I suggest you use them to make you stronger.”_

_After a pause, Tarquin reached and took hold of his father's outstretched hand._

Adrien blinked hard, willing the invasive memory away to bring the colors of the present swirling back into view. ' _Actions have consequences, son. And you'll have to face yours.'_ If only he knew how true those words would become seven years from then. He had to suppress a shudder.  
  
“You still get those, huh?” Garrus asked.

“Yes,” Adrien confessed.

 _'More frequently than ever,'_   he kept to himself.

Garrus nodded, sub-harmonics sympathetic as he admitted, “Yeah. Me too. Though not as frequently anymore. Work helps and you might be pleased to hear that I took my dad hunting- the same spot we went to. That helped too.”  
  
“How'd that go?”  
  
Garrus huffed a laugh, his mandibles fluttering humorously at his thoughts. “It went alright. I got the first kill and then it turned into a competition after that.” Then he added, uncomfortably, “He-uh, also took his clothes off immediately. I guess it wasn't his first time.”

“Are you telling me you didn't learn from last time?” Adrien asked, inclining his head toward the younger turian.  
  
“No, I did,” Garrus defended. “Still find it a little weird.”  
  
“Only to you, Vakarian.”

Garrus smiled around the rim of his glass as he drew from it. “Anyway, we got two. We kept half of one and the rest went to an orphanage. We brought it ourselves and they were... really happy.” Garrus trailed off, looking reminiscent.

“Thinking about adopting?” Adrien said as a jest, but regretted it when Garrus' reminiscent stare melted. His eyes fell to the counter, but only for a moment before he forced a weak smile on his face and raised his gaze to meet Adrien's.  
  
“Actually, yeah... once.” He paused, looking conflicted. “For a minute.”

Adrien waited patiently for Garrus to seek courage from his own glass. When he resettled it on the counter, he asked, “Remember the compound we rendezvoused at before the final push?”

Adrien nodded and supplied, “I recall a very public display of affection between yourself and the commander.”

“Yeah,” he expelled with a sad sigh. “Well... she and I tossed the idea of adopting when all that was done. It was a joke I think, but I was surprised by how much I liked the idea... I think she liked it too.”

Despite himself, Adrien offered, “You still can.”

Garrus shook his head. “I liked the idea with her. Without her I... I don't know.”

“What about one of your own?” He asked for little more than to keep up appearances. Nothing about Commander Shepard had changed for Garrus. For now, Adrien needed to keep it that way.  
  
“Seems a little selfish when there's so many that lost their parents. Besides, the topic came up for one minute. To be honest, I never saw myself becoming a father.”

“At first, neither did I,” Adrien admitted, chuckling slightly at the old fears he harbored leading up to Tarquin's birth. “When Magrim got pregnant, we were both scared. She and I were both heavily career-minded, which is why a second one didn't happen. Given more time, it might have, but we were happy with just Tarquin.”

Adrien broke off when he felt his throat tighten slightly. He sipped from his glass to hide it. “I wouldn't have traded it for anything, Vakarian. There's no feeling quite like holding your child for the first time, watching them take their first breaths. It's incredible. You think to yourself, 'damn, I helped make that.' You feel how soft he is and then he focuses on you. He's scared at first, but then he feels your sub-vocals- You can't stop them, and he stops crying because they make him feel safe. Then he purred and started to reach for my cowl-” Adrien snapped his mouth shut before it could betray him anymore. Only then did he become aware of the low, sorrowful keen his vocals had begun emitting. He stared hard at the bar's surface, but he could feel Garrus watching him intently, his own glass forgotten.

“Sorry,” was all Garrus offered and the word sat heavily between them.  
  
Adrien took several seconds to rein in his sub-vocals before he slowly responded with, “I don't blame you or Commander Shepard for his death.”  
  
“I know you don't.”  
  
Then Garrus looked away from him, seemingly in search of something else to say. It was a solid two minutes of silence before he turned back to Adrien and said, “You know, maybe you should consider adoption yourself.” That caused Adrien to look at Garrus again and found a small, encouraging smile on his face. Then he quipped, “You're not too old to take another crack at fatherhood.”

Surely, Garrus had not intended his words to stab into Adrien as deep as they did. He, himself, was surprised at how sharp the edge had been. He tore his eyes away from him, instead directing them at his near-empty glass when he felt his sub-harmonics run away from him again. He vaguely heard Garrus say something about a kid being lucky enough to have a Primarch for a father, but he must have heard Adrien's vocals because his mouth snapped shut with an audible click.  
  
“Spirits!” He heard the sheer amount of regret in his friend's voice. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean... That came out wrong.”  
  
He didn't require an explanation. He understood Garrus' meaning perfectly. What he did not understand was why it had the same impact as an unpleasant truth. Memories of Tarquin began to flash through his mind in rapid succession, but now Victus thought on them with a different sense of awareness. That's when he recognized a certain theme that many of his memories followed. Throughout Tarquin's childhood, he was under constant stress to live up to him. To be like him. To make him proud, probably right up to his death.  
  
Now Tarquin had been reduced to lining the walls of a jar on a metal shelf. He was cursed, even in death, with a father that would rather busy himself with work than take the time to confront his loss.  
  
“I know you were a great d-”

“No,” Adrien snapped, cutting him off. His voice cold, choked with guilt. “I wasn't.”

Despite the typically sparse amount of patrons in the bar that night, Adrien felt too crowded. Too closed in. Going there had been a mistake. Without a single look at Garrus, he removed himself from his perch and left. Mercifully, Garrus did not try to stop him.

 

* * *

 

He entered his apartment with the kind of urgency a turian would show when running late for a military briefing that he was expected at long ago. The door _hissed_ shut behind him and he turned his eyes on his pseudo-officer waiting quietly, expectantly, on the shelf across the room. Adrien stormed over to confront his silent opposition.

“I had no choice!” He shouted. His voice boomed at an octave that surprised even him. It only served to swell the guilt in his chest. He finally reached for the urn, some small attempt to alleviate the swelling. Unfortunately, it only grew when he saw his fingers leaving streaks in the thin layer of dust that had collected since the urn was placed in his-

 _'Not care,'_ he scolded himself. _'Neglect.'_  
  
Not knowing what else to do, he carried the urn to the kava table, setting it down before seating himself on the couch to stare at it, much the same as he did when he first received it. Only this time, he wouldn't run, wouldn't refuse to grieve the way his son deserved.

He raised his omni-tool to search through files until he found the one that had been uploaded from Commander Shepard herself after boarding the _Normandy_ from her mission on Tuchunka. It was footage recorded from her Kuwashii visor. He had watched it only once with her standing grim-faced beside him. He'd done his best to watch it as any general would watch a mission report. He quashed the pain at seeing his son fall, at seeing the ball of fire rise from the pit a fraction of a second after. Tarquin was just another casualty and he would remain that way.  
  
“Until now,” Adrien said aloud, lowering his brow to gently touch against the cold, dusty surface. “I hope you don't begrudge your old man another drink first.”  
  
He rose from the couch in search of his liquid comfort. It took him only minutes to find a bottle- he didn't bother with a glass- and return to his spot on the couch. He took a second to consume some of the burning liquid before taking a deep breath and hitting play.

He watched everything. From the banter between the Commander and Garrus as they traversed the terrain that would later serve as his son's temporary grave sight, to her interactions with Tarquin. Adrien allowed- no, _forced_ himself to take in the pain on Tarquin's face. The stress in his sub-harmonics. The fear in his eyes. He made a valiant effort to hide it from the Commander, but his father saw it now as he always should have.

 _"Spirits!"_ Tarquin cursed. _"Cerberus hacked the trigger mechanism. It's set to detonate!"_  
  
"Disarm it!" Shepard called back.

 _“No time!" Tarquin snapped. "I have to separate the trigger from the bomb. Now. Cover me!”_ Adrien flinched, knowing that would be the last exchange between Tarquin and his Shepard-eyeview. He wished she had looked at him longer than a quick glance. Every now and again, she'd risk a look up to see Tarquin hurrying along the rusty scaffolding- at one point she saw him sway precariously in the wind as he balanced on a support beam, but her attention was primarily on the battle. That was until she did an obvious double-take when Tarquin climbed down the last wing on the bomb. He heard the metal groan alarmingly under his weight, which meant Tarquin certainly heard it too. He paid no attention to it as he ripped the cover panel off with the kind of strength only turians and krogan possess. He then wrested out the chamber that held it all together. Commander Shepard watched as the metal slumped down and Tarquin lost his footing, leaving him dangling high in the air.  
  
_“Lieutenant!”_ She shouted.  
  
Tarquin looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers and, by proxy, Adrien's. It was only a brief look to confirm his fate.

 _“Victory... at any cost,”_ he said and yanked out the last proverbial nails to his coffin. The metal gave for a final time and down he went. He didn't even scream, Adrien noticed, but _he_ did as he reached for the tiny hollow of Tarquin before he fell out of sight, the bomb close behind him.

He went out in a blast of fire.

 _'Just like his mother,'_ he grimly thought.

The worst part of it all was that Adrien didn't see himself making any other decision than the one he had. Hell, he'd inadvertently done it again just days ago with Attilia; sending her on a covert mission in the hopes it would be done discreetly with no one being the wiser. All for the sake of peace. On that thought, if the Multiverse theory rang true, there was likely no universe in which Tarquin lives. That revelation sent a shock of guilt to his core that made him crumple forward.

He remembered that little fledgling laughing, smiling at his father's reflection as they made faces in the mirror. Who would of thought that little fledgling was staring into the face of his murderer?  
  
“You deserved so much better,” he mumbled, eyes squeezing shut as the hole in his gut threatened to swallow him. He resisted only briefly before he allowed it.

_He remembered himself sprawled pathetically on the floor just short of his bed because he was too drunk to make it all the way. He tried crawling, but only managed a few inches before he abandoned that endeavor in favor of burying his face in the carpet. He had suffered the loss of friends- good friends, but none blindsided him nearly as much as hearing Magrim's fate for the first time._

_News of her death was only hours old, but that's all Adrien needed to spiral out. At first, he was numb. He felt nothing when he picked up their son from school and told him his mother wasn't coming home this time. He held him close when he cried out, but later Adrien had found a bottle, then two, then he'd lost count before stumbling off to the bed he had shared with her for years. Or attempted to._

_He felt a soft tug at his arm._

_What would he do without her? She was his best friend, the one person that understood him better than anyone else in the galaxy. She laughed at his humor, often before he'd even made the joke because she knew him well enough to anticipate his thoughts on any situation._

_He heard a small voice call out to him without using his name. Another useless tug at his hand._

_He thought of how he'd find her sitting on the floor with machine parts scattered around her. He would pick up the piece that smarted the underside of his foot and he would throw it at her half-heartedly only for her to snatch it out of the air with barely a glance.  
_

_“Thanks, Private,” she'd say, mandibles twitching in a coy smile. “I needed that piece.”_

_He felt a small amount of pressure on his side as if someone was trying, unsuccessfully, to roll him over._

_She had been his partner for the last fifteen years._

_The pressure at his side disappeared in favor of pulling at his hand again._

“ _And now she's nothing but hunks of charred meat floating in space.” It was only after he heard the sharp gasp that he realized he had said that thought out loud. His hand was released, but the sudden loss of contact caused the irksome individual to fall backwards with a soft thump. That's because the individual was small and had been pulling on his much-larger frame for all he was worth._  
  
_Suddenly horrified, he forced his vision to focus on the child sitting in front of him among the wreckage of his bedroom he didn't remember causing. The bottle he had in hand must have broke sometime after he collapsed because Tarquin was sitting in the pieces. He had been_ standing _in them just seconds ago while trying to rouse his pathetic father. That was made painfully evident by the blue cuts weeping on his little feet, now on display in front of Adrien's face. He heard the distressed warble of his still-developing secondary vocals. He saw the hurt in his green eyes, desperate for comfort from his parent._

_Adrien had the bottle, but poor Tarquin only had him._

“ _I'm sorry, Tarquin!” He gasped, sitting up to roughly pull the child against his chest._

_He heard a sigh of relief and the sound gutted him further. He had just lost his mother. What else could he have thought upon finding his father face down on the floor and utterly unresponsive.  
_

_“I didn't mean that!” Adrien wailed, feeling every bit the failure of a father he was. He was careful to keep his face away from Tarquin. He didn't want him to smell the alcohol on his breath, though he was sure if was a futile gesture._

“ _It's alright, dad,” his sweet boy said. He freed his tiny hand from the grip of his arms to rest against his father's mandible. “We still have each other.”_

_Just like that, he was a broken mess of a man, clutching his wiser-than-him five-year-old like a lifeline. Shamefully, the alcohol inhibited his ability to think of anything else to say except to repeat, “I'm sorry,” over and over again._

“I'm sorry,” he said again, finding himself clutching Tarquin's urn to his chest, ignoring the macabre imitation it made of that night. 

They did have each other then, but he sat alone with his grief now.

He remembered telling Garrus, the night they'd fought in his apartment, that he was lucky not to have a five-year-old to worry about. The truth of the matter was that five-year-old had saved _him_ , kept _him_ from declining and gave him a goal to better himself. Tarquin was his pillar of strength. Always had been.

He only wished he could have been _his_.

He continued to sit there, not bothering to keep track of how long. He held the urn tightly against him with his head ducked to press his browplate against it. The pain was immense, his mind full of broken thoughts he knew he couldn't repair.

Where he excelled at leadership, he failed as a father. How he wished he could start over, never become a General, never rise high enough to be named Primarch. He would give it all up if it meant having his son back.

_'They could have it all!'_

He had robbed from him a future, a chance to be a father himself- _'and Spirits, he would have been a good one,'_ -or to simply pursue his passions. He owed Tarquin this much; to be mourned properly.

“Especially since I put you in here,” he said aloud to both himself and to the silent urn.

_"Did you remember to bring your manners?" Adrien used to ask him when Tarquin was young before entering any public place._

_"Yes, sir!" He'd say immediately._

_To which he'd look his son up and down, as if searching for something and then ask, "where? I don't see them."_

_Tarquin would beam proudly and pat the side of his leg. "In my pocket!"_

_"Very good." He'd nod with approval.  "Right where they should be."_

Eventually, all the alcohol in his system was beginning to make his bladder uncomfortable so he stood from the couch, the urn still in his arms and he carried it back to the shelf, gently returning it to its previous spot. He laid a lingering hand against its surface, silently promising not to forget about him this time, and retreated to the bathroom. After he relieved himself and went to the sink to wash up, he ducked his head to splash cold water on his face. It was soothing especially for how emotionally drained he felt. He reached for a nearby towel to dry his face with. It was only after he lowered the towel from his eyes that he noticed the armed intruder's reflection in the mirror, standing in the doorway behind him, pistol raised.

In the span of a second, his mind came to the realization that the S.O.S signal was not meant for Commander Shepard or Hackett himself.

It was meant for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the amount of angst in this chapter won't drive you away, but it'll begin to lessen from this point on. I promise.  
> Also, this story is definitely going to exceed fifteen chapters, contrary to what I recently stated. The next chapter will not be the last one. :) 
> 
> Note: I once saw a really emotional image on reddit of a little boy trying to pull his drunk, depressed father to his feet. That was what inspired that memory of Victus first coping with the news of Magrim's death.


	15. Chapter 15

In the length of a single breath, two things went through Adrien's inebriated mind. The first was, _'You allowed yourself to be so distracted that you didn't bother to secure the_ only _entrance. Sloppy.'_

 The second was considerably more morbid. As his eyes settled on the gray, metal barrel pointed at the back of his head, he couldn't help but entertain the idea of just letting the man -' _turian_ ,' his mind helpfully supplied,- take the shot. He had a good run. He was the Primarch everyone needed and, after finally allowing himself to mourn Tarquin, he was tired.

 So damn tired.

 That wasn't what he did. Before the intruder could squeeze the trigger, instinct kicked in and he was moving. He threw himself into his bedroom via the bathroom's side entrance, but not before he felt the bullet slam into his left shoulder. The pain was immediate with no shields to absorb the impact, but that was the least of his worries as his eyes scanned his bedroom. It was barely an improvement over the bathroom because he had two entrances to his bedroom the intruder could use and all Victus could do was wave his omni-tool to shut one of them; the bathroom door. He reached for his sidearm, but his hand closed around air.  
  
_'Of fucking-course.'_

 He didn't have time to berate himself on his second blunder because he knew the intruder would be headed for his bedroom door next. With a wave of his omni-tool that slid shut too, but he knew it wouldn't last. Metal doors, they may be, but they were still simple apartment doors. If the man really wanted him dead, and he sure seemed to, it wouldn't hold him for long.

A plan was needed and possibly backup.

Feeling more thankful for his decision to become the first Primarch with a krant, Adrien's next move was to pull up Naash's name. When he did, he frowned when he noticed a message the krogan had sent to him at some point earlier in the night.

“ _Toxx had an accident at work,”_ Adrien read. _“Doc says he'll be fine, but I'd like to stay with him tomorrow."_

Adrien narrowed his eyes at the door that blocked his attacker from view. That more than confirmed his suspicions that this was a planned assault. Toxx worked construction, which is a prime target for sabotage. Stage an accident targeting the large bodyguard's mate and take him out of the picture entirely.

Adrien began to send an S.O.S signal to him, but hesitated when another thought occurred to him.

_'Was he even familiar with the Hierarchy signal? Do krogan even utilize S.O.S signals?'_

Instead of chasing that thought any further than he needed to, he sufficed with typing a simple, _“Help.”_

He then thought briefly about donning his armor, seeing as he currently had access to it, and he didn't want to take another bullet unprotected. He dismissed that thought the instant he heard the telltale signs of explosives being set at his bedroom door. He didn't have time. He needed to set up fortifications.

Searching his room, his eyes returned to the heavy metal trunk he stored his armor in.

_'That could work.'_

When the explosion went off, the door collapsed on the spot and the other turian entered the darkened room with his gun raised. Adrien watched him as he moved light and fluidly on his feet, conveying the level of skill the killer possessed. Clearly this wasn't his first target.

His helmeted head snapped around to the armored turian positioned behind him and, surprised, sent a bullet straight through the visor. It would be too late for him to realize that the armor was sans a Primarch before Victus launched at him from behind the metal storage chest, while his back was turned.

He collided into the turian, both collapsing to the floor in a heap, but Victus' assault would do little against his hard-suit. His other option was to restrain him, which would prove difficult with only one healthy arm. Adrien disregarded the pain in his shoulder, and the way his sleeve soaked up the blue blood from the bullet wound and clung to his hide. He grabbed hold of the man's arms, pinning them harshly behind his back.

He had only a heartbeat to register the blue glow around his opponent's talons.

 _'Shit,'_ was all his brain was able to supply before he was sent flying into the hallway. His back slammed into the wall and he had to will his vision past the black spots that broke out in front of him.

His vision cleared just in time to witness the intruder climb back to his feet and reach for his pistol. It brought Adrien no small amount of pleasure to see the intruder's hand close around empty air because Victus currently had it pointed at him from his angle on the floor. The man's helmeted head looked up in time to take the first bullet to the face, but his shields took most of it. The second was absorbed by the biotic shield that flared around him as he began his advance.

Wanting no part of the dark energy that crackled around the intruder's hands, Adrien scrambled to his feet, which was made difficult by the alcohol in his system. He hurried down the corridor, but to his misfortune, he was not quick enough. He had a split second to register his feet leaving the floor before he was sent flying again. He went sideways into the living room.

It wouldn't be until a later time when Adrien would look back on this event and remember the way he heard Garrus call out to him.

“Adrien!” He heard. “I know mine is probably the last face you want to see, but I wanted to check on-”

He was interrupted by the sight of the Primarch suddenly flying in from the hallway. His heavy body would collide with the back of his couch, toppling over the top of it and end up with his carapace meeting its violent fate with his wooden kava table. Adrien locked eyes with a very surprised Garrus from his place on the floor, his kava table in ruins beneath him.

“What the-”

“Assassin!” Adrien barked, and Garrus immediately went into action. He sent a fireball from his omni-tool curving into the hallway. Then he ducked down behind the couch as Adrien struggled to right himself and take up position beside him.

“Are you armed?” Adrien asked. He was glad that having the wind knocked out of him served as a fine cover for his slurred words.

Garrus gave an answering smirk and drew his sidearm. “Always.”

“Good. I can use the back up.”

“Clearly,” Garrus said, and then, “Biotic?”

“Yes.”

“Of course,” Garrus growled as he sent another plasma missile into the hallway, keeping the biotic effectively pinned down. Unfortunately, so were they and their cover was significantly less durable than a wall, but if the turian couldn't get a line of sight on the two of them long enough, his biotics would be useless.

“He should be unarmed-” Adrien froze when a thought struck him silent.

Garrus looked at him reproachfully. “You have guns in your bedroom, don't you,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Adrien sighed.

“And he's between us and your bedroom, isn't he.”

“Yes.”

“You have _a lot_ of guns in there, don't you.”

Adrien glared at Garrus.

“Right. Enough questions. Let's get the bastard before he figures that out himself.”

“It'll be difficult to flank him, but perhaps if we draw him out...”

“Smoke bombs?” Garrus asked, voice hopeful.

“Kitchen. Second drawer on the left,” Victus confirmed.

“Good man.” Garrus nodded. “Cover me while I go for it,” and off he went. Victus popped up, sending his own plasma missile curving into the hallway. A half-second after, he heard the distinct sound of hardsuit legs moving as the man dodged it somewhere out of sight.

Mean while, Garrus dove into the kitchen and immediately began rifling through the instructed drawer. It didn't take him long to find his prize and even less time to keep it as he sent it sailing around the dividing wall, into the hallway. He then sent a second one for good measure.

“How attached are you to this apartment?” He called from the kitchen-turned-battle-bunker.

“Not very,” Adrien replied, sending one more plasma missile into the thick cloud of smoke and watched as it went up in flames. It was a carefully controlled blast and would only last for a second or two, but it was all that was needed.

The assailant sprung from his hot, smokey cover with a biotic barrier raised. In the time it took for his feet to touch the floor, his barrier took two bullets before it was flung out away from him, knocking Adrien back onto the pile of wooden splinters. Garrus had taken cover behind his significantly better-than-a-couch counter barricade, but he popped out quickly to overload the assailants shields. With both his barrier and shields down, Adrien and Garrus took their shots, but the assassin would not be so easily deterred from his target as he was already moving in a flicker of biotic energy. Straight for Victus. He managed to get a shot off into the man's chest once he was upon him, followed by a quick, defensive jab into his forearm, sending the glowing fist, that had been previously aimed at his head, slamming into the floor beside him instead. The shock wave was enough to send Victus airborne for the third time that night.

His carapace harshly reacquainted with the wall and he slumped forward at the impact. Half a second later, something hard and heavy crashed on the top of his head. The collision at his browplate broke whatever it was and his nasal cavity was instantly choked off by a thick cloud of dust, causing his chest to convulse in a violent coughing fit. For one gruesome second, he imagined his head splitting in half. He clawed at his browplate, an instinctual attempt to ease the excruciating pain that rang through his skull and his eyes clenched shut to ward off the invasive particles.

Terrible, ice-cold comprehension dawned on him then.

He forced his eyes open, willing his vision past a thick haze of pain and looked down at himself. He forgot about the assassin and Garrus. He forgot about the fight, the damage to his apartment, his own safety, and the splitting pain in his head. He forgot all of it when his eyes took in the sight of his lap, arms, legs, and torso coated in a thick layer of-

_'Not dust. Ashes.'_

His eyes widened with horror as he recognized the broken pieces of white clay, streaked with black tendrils. Absently, his fingers rummaged through the ceramic pieces in an asinine endeavor to somehow fix the damage that had been done. As if the urn would magically piece itself back together if the segments could just touch each other again. Fingers froze when he began to notice bits and pieces in the ashes that didn't burn all the way. Some broken plating. Shards of bone. A long spine from what was once a proud fringe.

The murderer sat in the ashes of his victim.

The father sat coated in the remains of his son.

He almost visualized what his mind might have looked like the moment it snapped.

He lifted his head to look at the one that dared to do this to his child. He saw the turian, currently engaged in hand-to-hand combat with another turian. He roared, loud and threateningly. The sound ripped from his chest like a caged animal finally released from its prison. His vision blurred after he climbed to his feet and charged for the fray. He attacked like the vengeful spirit of a lost crew, coated gray in a sheen of their charred remains.

The attacker was in the process of throwing a glowing punch at the other turian. He never got to complete his swing before the father collided into him, knocking him off his feet and locking him in his claws. A solid wall met his foe's back, but he was only aware of it because the collision pushed the man's armored throat further into the father's jaws that had closed around it. Blue light flashed in his face as the attacker- no, prey now, landed increasingly frantic blows against his hide. Somewhere in his mind, someone mused that it should have been painful, but he felt nothing and he refused to let go.

The black visor concealing his quarry's face shattered under the might of the father's slamming fists and clawing talons. He went straight for the eyes and mandibles. That was only made easier when the helmet finally came loose.

The sound of screaming assaulted his ear canals like shattering glass. Pleas perhaps, but they only served to fuel him.

Blood blue filled his vision and he wasn't sure how much of it was his foe's and how much was his.

“Damn it, Adrien!” He heard- Had been hearing, a small part of his mind realized. “You need to stop!”

“I don't,” his mouth replied.

Then a sound cut through his senses and sung to the training cemented deep inside him. It fired memories of another man, another life, but he'd know the sound anywhere. It was the sound of a gun cocking. His foe had gone still, slumped underneath him, so he felt safe enough to turn his head and meet the gleaming barrel of a sidearm pointed at his face. The turian on the other end stared at him, unflinchingly, with hard-fought resolve.

“What are you doing, Garrus?” He inquired, his tone unnaturally light, conversational. He didn't miss the way the other turian clearly suppressed a shutter.

“You have to stop,” he spoke slowly. “You don't want him dead.”

“I do,” he insisted.

“You don't. He's no good to us dead.”

“He's _only_ good to me dead.”

“You don't know what you're saying,” the turian growled. “But you need to trust me. We need him alive.”

“He doesn't deserve to live. He needs to die,” the father insisted, turning to snarl in the face of his now unresponsive foe for good measure. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other turian noticeably wince at his words.

“I know,” he said, his voice earnest. “Trust me. I _know_ how badly you want to... But you can't.”

“ _Why not?_ ” He found himself shouting and he lunged to his feet to come face to face with the other turian. Molten amber locked with ice blue. He felt the barrel press unwavering into his chest.

The other turian didn't answer right away. Instead, he held his gaze for several seconds before he finally glanced down at the gun he held pressed into his chest. His eyes then flickered back up and he began to move slowly, revolving himself to position his body between the father and his downed quarry. The father gnashed his teeth at the insult; A warning, but the man didn't so much as flinch. Then the cold metal disappeared from his chest and the familiar feel of a handle was pushed into his hand. The father glanced down at the gun in his grasp and then back up to meet the younger turian's resolute stare.

“If you want him dead so bad, you have to kill me first.”

 _'No.'_ A voice in his head pleaded.

“Go on.”

_'Not Garrus.'_

Garrus' mandibles tugged into a strangely ironic smile, betraying some thought or memory behind his eyes as he said. “Take the shot.”

_'He's the only one that still remembers your name.'_

The gun clattered to the ground. Adrien's knees followed suit. His body wracked with its previously unspoken agony. He had no idea how many broken bones he harbored or how many plates had been torn from his hide by the assassin's repeated close-range biotic attacks. Then he turned his head to take in the wreckage around him, but his eyes zeroed in on the only bit of destruction that mattered.

He was powerless to prevent the agony that escaped him in the form of a pained wail. He disregarded Garrus' presence and he tried to stand, but found that he couldn't. His body screamed its protests at the attempt and his vision swam, making him feel bilious. So he crawled.

“Adrien,” he heard Garrus say from above him, but he ignored his appeal. He only had room in his mind to focus solely on the ashes seeping into the carpet.

When he reached his goal, he gingerly cupped his palms to collect what he could of the spilled ashes. He then deposited them gently into the biggest piece of urn that remained. Two scoops was all he managed before he discovered that the largest part of the urn was still too small to hold the dusty contents. Unable to see any other option, he settled for lying down beside the mound of gray dust.

Finally broken, the father at last accepted his defeat.

A heavy presence knelt beside him and said, “I called my dad. He was already on his way over in response to-uh, a noise complaint. He'll be here shortly with his team to investigate this. The assassin will be taken to the hospital.”

Adrien said nothing, choosing instead to stare blankly at the morbid accumulation of all his regrets and failures. He watched helplessly as it continued to sink into the carpet fibers. His eyes flickered across it, settling on bits and pieces he could recognize.

_'That... looks like it was part of his keel.'_

“You're hurt,” Garrus gently told him. “You need to go too.”

“I'm fine,” replied Adrien, voice dull and listless.

“You're not. It's alright. I'll...” A long pause as Garrus' eyes settled on the pile of ashes. “I'll clean up here.”

Anger spiked through Adrien like a white-hot lance.

“No,” he rumbled.

_'No one else should touch Tarquin's remains.'_

Garrus hesitated. “Adrien, you're bleeding. A lot. And by the look of your browplate, I'm certain you have a concuss-”

“No.”

_'This is my responsibility.'_

“You _need_ to go to the hospital.” Garrus articulated each word slowly.

“Get out.”

_'I waited too long to mourn him properly. This is the least I can do; A final act of love from a failed parent.'  
_

“I'll take care of this,” Garrus repeated. "I promise that I'll be respectful."

“ _GET OUT!”_ Adrien roared, forcing his aching body off the floor to meet Garrus' stare. He saw the pity in his eyes, which only served to fuel his rage.

After a moment, Garrus blinked at him and slowly, a wry smile began to form on his face. “It occurs to me that, by now, I _have_ to have achieved some sort of record for most times one turian defied a direct order from the Primarch and lived to tell about it.” His voice was calm, clearly undeterred by Adrien's outburst. “You were there for me when I needed it even after I- _spirits_ , punched you in the face! Now, you can't tell me _that_ isn't a record somewhere.” Garrus' smile slid away, his face suddenly serious and Adrien felt his anger begin to erode. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Garrus' defiance stirred Adrien's previous exhaustion and he found himself without the energy to argue further. He was still so tired.

“I'm sorry, Vakarian,” he heard his mouth say, word's slurred. Then his eyes sought the broken urn pieces intermixed with the ashes. “This is what you would have felt if I had snapped Commander Shepard's nameplate that night.”

Garrus looked at him with a newfound concern. His eyes frantically roved Adrien's face as if searching for something.

“Like doing so would have made her deader than she is. I shouldn't have even... I'm sorry.”

Garrus raised his omni-tool and dipped his mouth down to say, “Hurry, dad.”

With his exhaustion tripled by the blood loss, the alcohol, and his head injury, all Adrien could do was lie back down and allow the commotion to unfold around him.

 

* * *

 

Like a dream, the world slowly swirled into view as Adrien's eyes slowly opened again. The apartment was gone, but in its place were oppressive white walls and the sickly smell of over used cleaning solution. A hospital, his mind deduced.

He glanced around, finding no one else in the room with him. When his eyes found the top of a large, unmistakably krogan head through the small window in the door, his heart jumped before he realized it was Naash. Ever dutiful, he stood with his back to the closed door, watching the hall, allowing no one to disturb his charge. Adrien raised his omni-tool with the intent to get his attention, but found that it had been removed. He settled instead for grabbing one of the nearby surgical bobbles on the table beside him and threw it at the door. At the sound of it clinking against the glass, Naash stiffened before turning to look at Adrien through the window.

Adrien's heart clenched at the shame he saw in the krogan's face. Naash blamed himself. He watched him look back, possibly to speak to someone beside him before he turned around to open the door and he walked in with Garrus coming in behind him.

Before anything else could be said, Victus asked, “How long?”

“Forty-nine hours,” Garrus replied immediately, likely expecting the question.

The answer brought him no relief. Two days was long enough for Attilia to return.

Adrien followed with, “And the assassin?”

“Alive, but in a coma,” Garrus answered.

“He _should_ be dead,” Naash growled angrily. Evidently, he had put two and two together then; that the assassin had likely been responsible for Toxx's accident.

“How is, Toxx?” Adrien asked, turning his eyes to Naash.

Naash's face softened slightly at the name. “He'll be fine. He only fell four stories,” he replied as if Toxx had merely smacked his thumb with a hammer. Adrien supposed, for a krogan, the two instances were comparable.

“I'm glad to hear it was only four stories,” said Adrien, his mandibles twitching into a smile, which he regretted when pain shot through his face at the action.

“I'm sorry I wasn't there,” Naash confessed.

“I don't blame you, Naash,” but Naash only frowned and turned for the door.

Before departing, he glared at Garrus and rumbled, “You should have let him kill him.”

Garrus opened his mouth to retort, but must have decided against it because he closed it again and simply turned his head to watch the krogan leave. The door swung shut behind his large frame. When Garrus turned his face back to him, Adrien said, “He's upset, but you did the right thing. Thank you for stopping me.”

Garrus huffed a laugh. “Did I ever tell you about the time Shepard deliberately stuck her head in my scope to stop me from killing someone I _really_ wanted dead?”

“Can't say that you have.”

Garrus nodded. “A story for another time then. After a few drinks.” Garrus looked like he had more to say, and Adrien waited for him to continue, but when he did, it was only to say, “I guess she still affects me even in death.”

That was a topic Victus did not want to approach so he pivoted it by saying, “The assassin; has anything been discovered yet?”

Garrus shook his head. “Only that he's not a match for any of the records we have on what's left of the Cabals.”

“Then he's not of Palaven,” Adrien concluded. Any turians with biotic abilities born on Palaven were reported and heavily monitored in the cabals. If the assassin was of Palaven, it would be a simple matter of comparing his DNA to that of the biotic turians they have recorded. Even when the select few were placed with Black Watch, there was little they could do without their superiors knowing about it.

 _'Unless the Primarch steps in and asks for one personally,'_ he thought quietly to himself.

"I realize I never thanked you for coming to my aide."

Garrus regarded him with a smirk as he shifted his weight back on one foot, his posture eased and confident.

"What's one assassin between friends?" He quipped.

Friends. The term held more weight behind it than he thought even Vakarian knew. After the night he had, Adrien found that word relieving. A reminder that perhaps he wasn't as alone as he felt.

"I was tempted to make a joke pertaining to the nature of how I entered. You know, by _not_ blasting your door down, but I didn't receive an opportunity to. Shame."

"Why did you come?" He asked.

Garrus' confident smirk melted. "Honestly... it was because of what I said at the bar. I didn't mean what I-" He paused to gather his thoughts. "You looked terrible as it was and when you left I couldn't help but worry that you might... I don't know. I just felt that I should check on you."

So he feared that he had driven the Primarch to take his own life. Outwardly, Adrien treated it as an absurd thought, even making a dismissive hand gesture. Privately, however, the thought lingered longer than it should have. Fortunately, he didn't have to reflect on the topic long before a firm knock sounded at his door. Adrien voiced his consent and a problem taking the form of Castis Vakarian entered his room. Victus knew this wasn't a social call. He had come to conduct his investigation into the attack, which was an issue due to the uncertainty of its cause. He had his suspicions, of course, but he had no interest in any of those suspensions coming to light. Not until he obtained a stronger hold of his precarious situation with the Alliance.

The elder Vakarian regarded his son with a simple nod as he past Garrus before he addressed the Primarch. Always straight to business, Castis said, “Sir, my team has combed your apartment for anything we could find pertaining the identity of the perpetrator. He certainly seemed to know what he was doing. All camera feed was cut. No prints to indicate when he arrived at your location or even when he arrived on Palaven, and he doesn't seem to have any personal connection to you.”

“I believe the next question is," Garrus chimed in, his mandibles pulled into an amused grin. _"Can you think of anyone who would want to harm you?'_ ”

Victus understood the humorous sentiment. In fact, he could think of several people that wouldn't mind seeing him removed from power, which was why the situation was so complicated. The Dalatrass, Irissa Asteria, Louki Fidele, and Devius Agoril were the first to come to mind, but he couldn't quite shake the memory of the S.O.S signal and the possible deeper meaning behind it. To be attacked six days after receiving that signal was unlikely to be mere coincidence. Be that as it may, these were not thoughts he wished to divulge with the two former C-Sec officers so he sufficed his answer with, “To that question: yes. Many in fact.”

The senior Vakarian took note of his reply in a datapad held in his left hand. By his lack of verbal response, Victus suspected that he had long come to that answer on his own. After he finished entering his notes, he inclined his head to consider Garrus. A look past between father and son, which Victus took as a dismissal because Garrus departed from the room without further comment, leaving his father alone with the Primarch.

Castis located a chair several feet from Victus' bed and he took a moment to leisurely drag it over. Victus couldn't shake the thought that the mundane action seemed almost... purposeful or rehearsed. It was like Castis was making a show of his calm confidence. Odd. Once Castis was seated, Adrien spent the next thirty minutes giving his end of the story. He told him almost everything, but chose to dance around the subject of what he was doing before entering the bathroom. He didn't want to revisit that memory and he didn't think it was pertinent to the case anyway.

As they spoke, it did not escape Victus' notice that Castis' kept his face carefully unreadable, almost guarded, but Adrien pushed on, pretending not to notice. Instead he filed it away for a later time. By the time he concluded, Castis had long stopped taking notes and had leveled him with an unblinking stare.

"-Then I sustained a head injury and..." Adrien trailed off, making a point to shake his head weakly. "My memory blurs after that," he lied. He remembered everything with the exception of one truth. "I don't even recall you and your men showing up at all."

Castis _hmm'd_ and told him, "We arrived and found you leaning back against a wall. You were unconscious."

Adrien endeavored to not allow the surge of affection he felt for Garrus to show on his face. He was well aware of the sorry state he was in when he blacked out; Sprawled beside the last vestiges of his dead son. Garrus must have took pity on him and chose to move the Primarch into a more dignified position before his father arrived. Adrien replied to his statement with a noncommittal nod, just in case Castis had worded his sentence to trap him. Catch him in a lie. Victus was then struck by the reasoning for Castis' unusual behavior only to be surprised again at the realization that his behavior wasn't actually unusual at all.

From the minute the veteran cop walked into the room, this had been an interrogation.

“Thank you for your time, Primarch,” was all Vakarian said as he tucked his data pad away and shifted his weight to stand.

“I think we can drop the pretenses, don't you, Castis?” Adrien asked, his eyes directing a cold stare at the other turian.

Castis had already turned for the door, but he paused at his question and swiveled his head to meet Adrien's gaze unflinchingly. A few seconds ticked by before he rotated the rest of himself on the spot to face Adrien's bed head on, folding his arms behind his back as he did so. “Very well,” he started with a curt nod. “I've been at this game a long time, Victus. Politicians like you have an image to protect and will do anything- say anything, to uphold that.”

Victus knew his eyes were left untouched by the wry smile his mandibles flicked into. “I've been called a lot of things, Vakarian, but I think I can say with a fair amount of certainty that I've never felt more insulted than I do right now.”

Castis did not return a smile of his own. “It was my understanding that pretenses were dropped, sir.”

“They are. Tell me what you really think,” Adrien just short of ordered.

Without missing a beat, the old C-sec officer launched into his explanation. “I think my son is blinded by the trust he has placed in you. He's always been good at sensing deception in others except when it comes to those close to him. I, however, am not so hindered.”

“You think I'm lying.”

“I think you're ultimately a good man, Victus. That doesn't change the fact that you're a man with a hell of a lot of power." The blinds hanging over the window beside Adrien's bed left shadows dancing across Castis' face, making him appear almost ominous. "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Victus took a small amount of pride in the fact that he was able to keep his face neutral. He did not want Castis to notice that his words crashed into him like a tidal wave of unpleasant discovery. Thankfully, Castis did not wait long for a response before turning to leave.

“Vakarian,” Victus bid, stopping Castis in route for the door. “I understand your relationship with Garrus was a strained one, but you raised a good son. You should be proud.”

Once again, Adrien found his eyes locked with Castis'. His ever-stoic face gave nothing away. “Primarch,” he said, breaking the silence, “I have _always_ been proud of my son.”

He left.

 

* * *

 

For the rest of the day, his doctors would be Victus' only company. He listened while they listed all the things in his body that were damaged, which included a total of sixteen fractured or broken bones, a concussion, a bullet wound, and several torn plates. The bullet was removed while he was out, small doses of medigel, delivered in intervals, would mend the broken bones, and the torn plates would grow back, given enough time and careful treatment. He knew that from experience. The condition they were most concerned about was his concussion, which was another ailment he had experienced before.

His doctor wanted him to remain in the hospital's care for three more days, but Adrien wouldn't hear it. He insisted that only one more night was all that would be necessary. Grudgingly, they agreed.

It was only after they explained his injuries to him that he realized he was still covered in ashes. They had cleaned off what they could to properly treat him, but were unable to bathe him entirely. That would lead Adrien to having to take the most unpleasant shower of his life. It didn't help that his bones were still too weak to support his weight on their own, which left him needing assistance to even make it to the bathroom. Nurses helped him into a plastic chair they set up for him in the shower and he mentally added ' _pride_ ,' to that list of things that had been wounded.

When they left him alone, he found himself staring at the shower controls, feeling absurdly apprehensive of turning the water on. However, he knew he had to, so he pushed past his misgivings and activated the controls.

There the once-powerful General Victus sat, on a cheap plastic chair with his head dipped low, beaten. All he could do was allow the warm water to rain down on him as he stared miserably at the off-white tiles under his feet. He watched the last remnants of his son wash down the drain in a mixture of his own spilled blood. He felt sick as it swirled around his toes and then angry at allowing this desecration to happen in the first place. Tarquin's ashes washed away like nothing more than grime after a long day of excursion. It was yet another tick on his list of negligence toward him.

His mood wasn't helped by the memory of Castis' words. The thought that he was viewed as little more than a corrupt politician didn't sit well with him, but he was without the ability to deny it. Lies and half-truths were coming easier to him than they ever had before and he struggled to pinpoint exactly when that had begun to happen. That was made more difficult when he recalled the irritation he felt towards the Hierarchy members during their first meeting. Irritation at their deception and how they hid their true intentions with muted sub-harmonics.

The fact that he had just done the same damn thing to Castis left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Adrien's attention never shifted from the water around his feet as the gray-blue color began to swirl clearer and clearer.

_A long finger hovered over the start button to his vehicle. Before it could complete its descent, Adrien turned his face to the backseat to give his six-year-old an expectant look._

_Tarquin recognized the look and his eyes lit up with excitement. "Stand by for engine number one," was his well-practiced reply._

_Adrien's finger pressed the button and the skycar whirred to life. "Copy that. All clear," he'd answer and then, "Stand by for engine number two."_

_Tarquin narrowed his eyes. "There is no engine number two."_

_Adrien barked a laugh and smiled fondly at his son via the rear-view mirror. "That is definitely not a response you want to hear back."_

He blinked away the memory of a different time, as a different man, in order to focus his attention on the residue of that six-year-old as it washed down the drain in a tiny whirlpool. When he was no longer able to see anymore color in the water, his anger spiked again. He knew that someone was behind this attack and he was discontent to wait for Castis to handle it. He wanted answers and he would have them.

When the nurses had returned to help him from the shower and return him to the prison of his bed, he spoke to none of them until he was settled again. His mind was so occupied by thoughts of vengeance and anger that he didn't notice the needle they inserted into the drip bag they had just reattached to his arm until it was too late.

Impulsively, he reached for the needle they secured under a plate on his forearm, but the nurse had anticipated it. When she grabbed his hand he met her gaze and growled out, “I don't require any further medication.”

“It's to help you sleep, sir,” she soothed, her voice soft and sympathetic. It only made him angrier.

“No!” He snapped. “Take this needle out. _Now_!” She flinched at the final word, but remained stubbornly attached to his free hand.

“Please, Primarch Victus. You'll feel better in the morning,” she used that same tone dripping with pity as if talking to a child... or an old man.

“I said remove it!” His voice grew, but he could feel the affects of the drug sinking into him now, making him feel both sleepy and panicked at the same time. He tried to wrench his arm away, but his muscles were about as useful as a gun without a trigger. He was being robbed of control over his own body, causing the cold claws of terror to grip his chest.

“Remove it!” he repeated, hearing the way his words slurred. His sub-harmonics made up most of his speech now.

“It's going to be alright, Primarch."

“No!” His vision was beginning to darken.

“You'll feel much better tomorrow.”

“No.” His voice came out as nothing more than a whisper before sleep dragged him down.

 

* * *

 

He was awakened by the kind of glowing warmth only Trebia's rays could provide. His facial plates felt pleasantly heated and for a moment, he was content to just lie there and bask in it. Unfortunately, the comfort he felt would prove to be only a brief respite from his tumultuous thoughts brought on from his growing awareness.

His eyes snapped open and he immediately began testing his limbs and everything that had hurt the day before. His muscles were stiff from hours of disuse and his bones snapped and popped, but not unpleasantly. Adrien sat up slowly and raised his arm to retrieve the needle he recalled from the night before, only to find that it had already been removed. Feeling bold, he swung his legs over the edge of the cot and slowly lowered his bare feet to the cold tile below him. He took the time to experiment the sturdiness of his legs by slowly shifting his weight onto them until he stood completely upright.

Satisfied with the results of modern medicine, he felt brave enough to take a few tentative steps. His legs still ached and his steps were shaky, but they held. A glance in a mirror mounted on the far wall reminded him of his nudity and he began to scan the room for something to wear. Thankfully, someone (Han, he suspected) had the thought to lay clothes out for him. With the clothes in sight, he gave himself the goal to reach them.

Taking his time, he put one tentative foot in front of the other until he reached his prize. He dressed himself as quickly as his sore limbs allowed and left his room with another goal in mind.

He wanted to meet his would-be assassin.

The doctors, predictably, hesitated when he made his request. When he amended his request as an order, they relented and escorted him to the room. Outside the door, the doctor reluctantly handed him a cup of ice cubes and two syringes; one to wake the man from his coma and the other to place him back in when he was done.

“He's in a fragile state, Primarch,” the doctor warned. “The coma is what is allowing his body to heal. Too much stimuli could kill him.”

“Understood,” Victus complied before he entered the room, leaving the doctor outside.

The steady staccato of a beating heart, magnified by the assembled equipment, assaulted his ear canal first. Adrien's eyes flickered to the man's dangerous hands and found them bound to the bed with biotic-nullifying cuffs. No doubt, the amp located in the back of his neck would have been removed too, rendering his assailant harmless.

Adrien approached the cot, taking in the other turian's prone form. He had a bandage over his right eye _-had he lost it?-_ as well as a bandage wrapped around his jaw, holding his damaged mandibles in place. Every spine making up his fringe had been snapped, probably from repeated contact with the wall of his apartment. From what little he could see of the man's face beneath the bandages, he appeared to be around Garrus' age and barefaced. Unsurprising, given that most biotic turians aren't permitted colony markings even off of Palaven. Most colonies don't like to be associated with biotics so those with the ability often voluntarily forego receiving them per their family.

Adrien's eyes lowered to his throat, finding thick bandages there as well, hiding the damage from view. He remembered sinking his teeth into that hide. How lucky the man was that he did not rip his throat out. As it was, Adrien had to wonder how well he'd even be able to answer his questions.

He laid the two syringes and the cup of ice on the bedside table. He then selected the syringe that would wake the turian and stuck the needle into the IV bag that hung beside him. After he pushed down on the plunger, he pulled a chair up beside the cot and took a seat while he waited for the drug to kick in. He didn't have to wait long.

Fingers began to twitch, subtly at first, but then they began to crack and flex. Blunted talons, a precaution the nurses had taken, pressed uselessly into the sheets. The deep breaths he was taking earlier while comatose had become erratic and Adrien knew he'd be waking soon. He lifted his eyes back to the man's face just in time to catch his lone eye opening for the first time since the night of the attack. The terror he saw was instantaneous when the man met his eyes.

His assailant opened his mouth in a silent yelp and tried to wrench away from him only to encounter the restraints on his wrists. Adrien observed stoically as the younger turian seemed to struggle on deciding what to focus on first; his surroundings or him.

He ultimately decided on the Primarch.

Victus held his stare for a few seconds then broke away to reach for the cup of ice on the bedside table. “Thirsty?” He asked, shaking the cup to rattle the ice. “They would only allow ice, I'm afraid.”

The machine beside them cycled several heartbeats before the man eventually decided that the turian he woke up to was no longer the one that savagely mutilated him. That was evidenced by the way his body slightly relaxed and the lone eye in his bandaged face followed the sound of shifting ice, settling on the cup. He tilted his head slightly, tempted at the offer. After a moment, he faintly nodded and made an attempt to flick his left mandible out, wincing at the pain the motion caused him. The man was unable to reach for the cup on his own so Victus tilted the cup towards his mouth and allowed two cubes to slide out into his waiting maw.

Victus watched the man savor the ice on his tongue and when they melted, he clearly wanted more, but Adrien wanted answers. He took the cup away and placed it on the bedside table, ignoring the longing look the cup received as it withdrew.

“Can you speak?” Adrien asked.

The turian gave him a measured look before he rasped, “I...thi-” His mouth shut and he swallowed once before trying again. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Adrien nodded and rewarded the man with another two ice cubes, which he swallowed readily. He then followed with, “Name?”

“I'm just a pawn, Primarch,” he answered slowly, his voice weak and raspy.

“A gun for hire then,” Victus stated, having known the answer to that question.

“That's right.” He stopped to draw a labored breath. “Been doing it for years.”

“I see,” Adrien said conversationally.

The man nodded as best he could. “It wasn't personal. Just business.”

“Where are you from?” Victus asked. The man blinked at the question, clearly expecting a different query pertaining to his employer. Victus decided to further catch the man off guard by switching dialects. “Don't misunderstand, your Imperan is perfect. Your accent is flawless. I would have believed it too if not for your slip up.”

The man blinked again, further surprised at the changed language, but otherwise didn't respond. Victus continued to speak in the vernacular. “Nothing to be ashamed of; You _were_ just coming out of a coma, after all. If you're wondering, it was when I offered you the ice. You tilted your head and flicked your left mandible.” The man narrowed his eye in annoyance. He'd been caught and he knew it. “A common gesture of thanks seen primarily in _Invictus_ cultures.” Victus growled the name of the infamous colony world and he glowered at the man, daring him to deny it.

“I've been doing _this_ for years,” Victus added, switching back to Imperan, a smirk on his face. He gave the man time to answer, but when he didn't, the General continued. “'It was business,' you said. If you're from Invictus- and don't try and say you're not, it narrows down your potential employer substantially, though... regretfully I'm not very popular there.”

The man was absolute in his silence, but his stare hardened into an icy glare.

“I don't doubt that you're a mercenary, but one with biotics? Undoubtedly your services must be costly- eezo isn't cheap after all. So it's someone with a considerable amount of credits, willing to spend them on eliminating me.” Victus bore his eyes into the other turian's. “ _That_ narrows it down even more.”

The man tried for a smile, wincing at the effort. “They said you were good.”

A clear attempt to pivot the subject. Victus would allow it for now. He tilted his head and flicked his left mandible as silent encouragement for the man to continue. The gesture, he knew, would whisper to the man's Invictus culture, putting him at ease and more likely to keep talking.

“Hard to find too,” he went on, taking long breaths were he could, not unlike a volus. “Most dignitaries take up residence in more... obvious accommodations. I never expected the Chief Primarch to camouflage himself within the local populace.”

“I'm a simple man,” Victus offered, but the assassin shook his head faintly.

“I don't think that's the case.”

“Do you always brown-nose your targets?”

"Does the Hierarchy know their Chief Primarch speaks perfect Invictus?" He countered.

Probably. It was not a skill unique to him, after all. Most Generals learn multiple languages in order to gain advantages in enemy territory or to simply blend in. It was probably assumed that he could speak other turian languages. Still, it wasn't a skill he flaunted in Hierarchy meetings.

In any case, it was likely a rhetorical question, but Victus' military training encouraged him not to give an answer regardless. It wouldn't due to give the enemy any knowledge of their general military skills.

He kept his face void of emotion.

The man emitted a weak, wispy laugh at his silence. “No. You'll have to forgive me, Primarch, I find myself at a disadvantage.”

“Clearly,” and Victus gestured to his cuffs. That earned another chuckle.

“You're alright, Primarch,” the turian declared, his eye watching him appraisingly. “Which is what surprises me. I was raised to believe the Chief Primarch, one after the other, as a tyrant; You being no different. Then I got to Palaven- it's my first time, if you can believe it,” -Victus didn't.- “And I saw how your people think of you. You're likely the most well-loved diplomat I've ever- _hmm_... _met_. I damn near called the hit off entirely.”

“Why didn't you?”

At the question, the man visibly deflated and fell into silence. As the quiet stretched, Victus thought maybe he wasn't going to answer at all until he took his raspiest breath yet and said, “Because I want to die.”

He looked away from Victus, finding something on the ceiling to focus his attention on. “I figured, with the amount of creds I was getting paid for the job, I'd have been set for life if I was successful. If I wasn't, and given your reputation I knew that was entirely possible; I could finally rest. I saw the job as a win-win. I-uh... didn't foresee this happening.” He raised a finger as a mute gesture to the hospital room.

It was a stab of pity that caused Victus to reach for the cup and return it to the man's mouth. He allowed four ice cubes to slide out along with a couple drops of cold water. The man tilted his head and flicked his mandible in gratitude, an intentional gesture this time.

“Do you still want to?” Victus asked when he returned the cup to the bedside table.

At the question, the man turned to fix him with a piercing stare.

“You don't need me to tell you what it's like to lose everyone you love. I saw your face in the mirror; the look in your eyes. You were tempted to just let me kill you, weren't you?” The question was formed as a statement, and Victus couldn't help the chill that ran up his spine. “I knew what... _who_ that urn held. I didn't... it wasn't my intention for it to break on you like that. I'm sorry.”

Victus said nothing in response to the apology. He kept his face passive, his eyes watchful.

“I had a little sister,” the man explained. “During the war we were hunkered down in an old building, but the reaper forces found us. I was so tired and my amp was way overused... They ripped her from me. I... I can still hear her screaming my name.” The man's stare hardened. “Yes, Primarch. I still want to die.”

Victus glanced at the syringe on the table. When his eyes returned to the man's face, he found that his eye had followed his stare and were settled on the syringe as well. After a moment he met Victus' gaze again.

“Is that...?”

“No. That will put you back in a coma, which would keep you alive. By the sound of your breathing, I should do that soon.”

The man frowned, his lone eye remorseful. “I know I don't have a right to ask anything of you, but...”

“Who paid you?” Victus asked.

The man hesitated, but then breathed, “Primarch Devius Agoril.” Victus nodded, not at all surprised at the name. Then he blinked when the man continued with, “and Alliance brass. I'm not sure exactly who.”

“What?” It was a suspicion of his, of course, but it had more or less died when he discovered his assassin was from Invictus. He wasn't aware of any connection between that colony world and the Alliance.

The man smiled, almost fondly, at Victus. “The Invictus economy wasn't great before the war and even though we weren't hit as hard as the other colonies, our economy still suffered and hasn't recovered much. Primarch Agoril couldn't afford the job alone, which tells me you did or _said_ something to piss the Alliance off. I couldn't figure out what, but then it wasn't my place to ask questions like that.”

Victus allowed his eyes to drift away from the man and settle on the wall as he sorted through his thoughts. He had asked questions about Commander Shepard and he all but threatened Hackett over the comm, yes, but was that enough to send an assassin after him?

Or perhaps, and he shuddered at the thought, Attilia had been caught? That dropped a stone of dread into the pit of his stomach.

He resolved himself to gain custody of the man's omni-tool for Solana to scour.

As he rifled through the questions in his mind, the man's breathing was becoming more labored. His heartbeat was starting to become erratic and his body began to twitch. Victus glanced at him in time to see the pleading look in his eye. It was that look that stayed his hand from reaching for the syringe that would save him.

There was a part of Victus that envied him.

“It's been a pleasure, Primarch. My name...” the man breathed, using his native Invictus tongue for the first time since their conversation started. “Is Voltaire.”

The staccato beats of his heart finally ceased.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castis' words, "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” is a quote by John Acton.
> 
> Apologies for the wait. I struggled a bit to get this chapter just right. I hope you enjoyed it. :)


	16. Chapter 16

Adrien sat like a statue, cold in his chair, watching the lone eye that no longer returned the gaze. It sat open and black, its direction fixed sightlessly on his face. He was in no hurry to return to his room so he took the time to regard the man- ' _Voltaire_ ', smothering whatever small amount of pity that threatened to rear within him.

He'd learned long ago to disassociate his enemies from people; to forget that they were someone's son or daughter as this man once was. It did no favors to dwell on that when having to kill them. It was made more difficult, during quieter times, when he would allow his mind to bring up the fact that Tarquin's enemies had likely done the same unto him. They fired at him indiscriminately without caring whose son he was and how much his father loved him.

As he took in the man's deadened features, he wondered if this was how he looked while he laid on the floor of his apartment, staring at the last vestiges of the son he loved.

He lingered on that thought only briefly then finally enclosed his hand around the syringe that would have saved his attacker. He injected it slowly into the drip bag, watching the liquid run from the tip of the needle to join the mixture of fluids, running uselessly into the arm hooked up to it. He used the display as an excuse to reflect on his next actions.

With the death of his assassin, Victus was the only soul that knew he was aware of the identity of at least one of the persons involved in the hit. That gave him some level of control over the situation, but he needed to play his hand correctly or risk losing his newly-gained advantage. The trap had been sprung, but failed. Now he had to cover it up lest those hunting him become aware that soon, they would become the hunted.

Once the syringe was empty, he returned it to the bedside table to join its mate. Victus then stood from his chair and left the room.

In the hallway just outside the door, the doctors waited anxiously for his reappearance. They surely heard the heartbeat machines and then, subsequently, stopped hearing them. They looked at him earnestly and Victus had to remind himself that, assassin or not, to them, the man was a patient they were responsible for. They likely took his death as a failure on their part.

Victus had never touted himself a patient man, but he would've never risen to general had he not known when to take steps towards launching a successful ambush. The first step toward his victory was the death of the assassin. The second step was to lure his attackers into a false sense of security by feigning ignorance.

“You were right,” Victus declared as the metal hospital door _whooshed_ shut behind him. “I'm afraid the ordeal was too much for him. I learned nothing of his motives.” He pointedly ignored the way the lie came to him as easily as exhaling a breath. “I will be taking custody of his omni-tool. Bring it to my room.”

It wasn't a request and his tone brook no room for argument. He knew which voice to use and at what octave to interact with the vestigial military training lying dormant within the doctors. Predictably, they said nothing in response, but parted to allow him to pass. They were unhappy, but they would follow the order of a superior as any good turian would.

They would also talk. Later, of course, but word would spread from that hallway that the assassin had succumbed to his injuries before any information could be gained.

Step two complete.

Upon entering his room, he found Garrus and Naash waiting for him inside. The former looked up at him, a question in his eyes.

As his adviser, Garrus was likely able to get information on his whereabouts from the doctors. Due to his high placement in the meritocracy, they were obligated to tell him unless under orders from a turian higher than him; id est, the Primarch himself. An oversight on his part, but one Victus knew he had to contend with.

Patient, he was not. Adaptive, he certainly was.

Victus slowly shook his head, a safe gesture no matter what Garrus' question was, and the other turian deflated slightly. He had obviously been hoping for more of an answer. His disappointment stirred the temptation to confide in him, to share with him all that had transpired, but Victus resisted. This was his battle. Garrus would only get in the way.

Wordlessly, he moved past the two men he'd come to consider his friends. His face was calm, but anger twisted venomously inside him, creating an unspoken barrier to keep them at bay as he collected his effects that were removed from him the night he was brought to this room. They had been placed in a sealed bag, which consisted of his ash covered clothes and omni-tool.

When he turned to face his companions again, he found that one of them, Naash, had placed himself in front of the room's only window. His face was set in a look of great dismay.

“That's... a lot of turians,” he rumbled, evidently piquing Garrus' curiosity because he moved to join the krogan at the window.

“Damn,” Garrus nearly whispered. Tearing his eyes from the vista, he looked to Victus and said, “You need to see this.”

Victus gave him a dubious look. He had work to do and he was anxious to put this hospital behind him. Garrus was persistent though, his eyes never strayed from Victus' face, so he relented and moved to the window. Garrus stepped back to allow him to take his spot for the view.

He couldn't help the way his breath hitched when his eyes settled on the scene of hundreds- possibly thousands of turians gathered outside the hospital. At first glance, he feared it to be a revolt, but upon further observation he saw no anger or agitation in the shifting mass of bodies. They moved about calmly, each stooping to place a tiny object on the ground. Some stuck around to look up at his window while others simply took their leave. The metal surface of the objects they left shown brilliantly in the sun.

 _'Bullet shells,'_ his mind supplied.

His initial alarm faded as quickly as it came.

Privately, he remembered Voltaire's words. _“And I saw how your people think of you. You're likely the most well-loved diplomat I've ever_ __met_ _ _.”_

To call it a show of support was a vast understatement. This was a categorical offering akin to those made to spirits of sought after places. The bullet shells took the place of flowers or incense sticks, but the meaning was the same.

This sort of practice was done thousands of years ago to the turians that called themselves 'Kaisar.' They were looked at almost as favorably as spirits and people would leave offerings for wisdom or strength or simply to show their respect and support.

The people of Palaven undoubtedly heard what happened to their Primarch and while they didn't know the details of the attack, they viewed it as an attack on themselves. Loyalists and Separatists alike came in droves to stand united against whoever dared to act against them, not unlike the way they faced the reapers. They were fearless and proud and at the center of their unity was their Primarch.

Victus knew he should feel disturbed at the display... but he didn't. He felt both humbled and powerful at the same time. The anger that had been consuming him since the night before had ebbed away completely. He was a servant to these people and they were happy to have him.

“I feel bad for the poor bastard who has to pick all those shells up,” Garrus commented.

“Should I head down for a little crowd control?” A growl carried Naash's offer. Clearly, the meaning of the display was lost on him.

“That won't be necessary,” Victus told him, laying a hand against the warm window pane. “These are my people. They won't hurt me.”

When he set foot outside the hospital doors, he allowed himself to soak in the din caused by the hundreds of sub-harmonics from the crowd before him. He felt elated, contrary to the near-crippling fear he experienced the last time he allowed himself to be surrounded. This time, he felt no reservation as he submerged himself in the mass of plated bodies. He could hear the metal shells clink lightly against the concrete as they were knocked over by the thousands of digitigrade feet that moved in all directions. When he felt the first companionable squeeze on his shoulder, he looked the turian in the eyes and trilled his own gratitude.

Taking his time, he moved slowly through the mass of bodies and despite feeling every talon that grazed his arms and shoulders, he felt damn near untouchable. He looked into the eyes of Palaven-born and colonists alike, even seeing a few battleteeth tattoos grinning back at him.

This was where he belonged.

He knew cameras were on him and thus, Devius Agoril was watching, seeing the loyalty he would never achieve from his own people. The Invictus Primarch was learning that, not only did his plan fail, he had inadvertently made his target even more powerful. He could observe the way the crowd gathered around Adrien like a spirit of unity... or war.

The Father had been beaten down, but the Primarch reigned victorious.

 

* * *

 

Victus' high would last the entire rest of the day, even while he poured over data pads on his desk. For the moment, the attack was almost forgotten and he allowed himself to bask in the glow of the events of that morning. Unfortunately, it was not to last.

The second his apartment door opened, his elation left him in a single breath as he took in the wreckage of his home. Hesitantly, he stepped into the living room, making sure to secure his entrance this time, and took in the destruction.

His kava table was in splinters and his couch had somehow ended up turned over and thrown about three meters away from its original location. His desk and computer had met their fates with his floor and the walls of his hallway had been blackened with soot. Upon entering his bedroom, he was relieved to see that only minimal damage was done by the fire, but he found open chests and cabinets; A sign that Voltaire had indeed made the attempt to locate his weapons. Thankfully, he was no where near finding the hidden caches of firearms, but a few more minutes of searching and he would have discovered Adrien's very sharp, meter-long ceremonial blade.

He shuddered to think at the damage that would have caused in the hands of a biotic.

His bathroom also sustained only minimal damage, the most obvious being his shattered mirror. That left only one last spot of destruction to observe, which he'd avoided until now. He stepped back into the living room and allowed his eyes to sweep over the significant crater in the wall, left by his carapace. Then, tentatively, he looked down at the foot of that wall and found the pile of ashes, still there and seemingly untouched with the exception of one small detail. Someone had left an empty, plastic-lined box beside the pile to serve as the new temporary vessel for the ashes.

It was a simple cardboard box with no hint to its origin, but Adrien had his suspicions. With the way he had yelled at Garrus that night, enraged at the thought of anyone else touching the remains, he understood why the ashes were left alone.

Adrien made himself comfortable on the floor and began the long process of scooping the remains, by hand, into the box. He didn't want to think about how much of the contents had been lost in the carpet fibers. On that thought, he glanced up and noticed gray footprints- his foot prints, from were he'd flown at the assassin, lost in his anger and grief. The ashes on his feet hadn't last longer than a few steps before they were wiped clean by the carpet and then his prints were replaced with dried, blackened blood. More of that had collected in large amounts against the second crater he had missed. It was the one he had personally sculpted, using the body of his attacker as his chisel.

He couldn't know how much of the dried blood was his assailant's and how much of it was his. He could only imagine what Garrus must have thought upon seeing the Primarch in such an animalistic state. The younger turian had to witness what no turian should; his leader hitting absolute rock bottom. Adrien took a small amount of comfort in the fact that Garrus wasn't just any subordinate, but his closest friend. Hopefully, he had not experienced the breakdown through the eyes of a subordinate. He couldn't have, not by the way he defied a direct order to leave, choosing to stay with him instead.

He supposed they were even now. They both experienced the other at their absolute lowest. Funny how blood was shed during both circumstances.

An exacerbated sigh left him and his busy hands paused in their work. Garrus had been nothing but a loyal friend to him and he was repaid for it with lies and deceit. Guilt twisted Adrien's gut like a knife and his thoughts began to drift to the shadowy Watcher sent to collect his answers.

Where the hell was Attilia?

His hands went back to work as his mind ran calculations of the days she'd been gone. It had been a total of nine Galactic Standard days since she left. Seven since she sent him the one and only message, informing him that she had landed. With only one relay between Palaven and Earth, it should only take a maximum of two days to travel between planets, which was ample time for the freighter she had boarded. Assuming she was on her way back, deducting another two days of her absence, would leave her with five days to get the job done.

For an infiltrator of her caliber, five days should be plenty of time to finish her mission. He hoped she was hunkered down on a returning ship because the alternative meant she might have encountered a problem. The thought set his nerves on edge so he endeavored to distract himself with the repetitive task at hand. He scooped the ashes, trying not to look too closely at the intact pieces, and deposited them into the box.

_Adrien stood alone at Cipritine airport. Travelers bustled noisily around him, but he paid them no mind. He watched Tarquin step up to the transport shuttle that would ferry him off to boot camp. On the outside, he was calm, looking every bit the proud father he was. Inside, however, his stomach had plummeted to his feet._

_Fifteen-year-old Tarquin turned around when he reached the door and gave one final salute to the man that had raised him almost entirely on his own. The last year of Tarquin's adolescence had been its own lighter version of boot camp and he had grown strong and skilled as a result. Thanks to his general father, he would have a head start on the other recruits._

“ _He'll be fine,” Adrien whispered quietly to himself as his hand rose to return the salute. “I've done all I can.”_

_It was time to let him go._

His hands shook, sifting powdery dust through the gaps of his fingers. Adrien closed his eyes and willed his body to draw deep breaths to calm himself.

When he was on Shanxi, it was his platoon that foiled the first mission, launched by the humans, to take the colony back. The humans had dubbed it, 'Operation Phoenix.' The word would stick with Victus for some time and after the Council stepped in and ended the altercation, he looked the word up on the extranet.

He learned that a phoenix was a mythical creature that obtained new life by arising from the ashes of its predecessor. It was a fitting name, considering what the humans were trying to do and Adrien found it odd to think of it now after so many years. He supposed it made a fitting metaphor for his current activity. For as his fingertips scraped the carpet to gather what little was left of the pile into his palms, he couldn't shake the finality he felt in the action. Like it was a goodbye, not only to Tarquin, but to the Father that cherished him so much.

From the ashes, the Father died, but like a phoenix, the Primarch rose.

Attilia had been sent on her mission at the Father's behest, but things had changed since then. Something darker was afoot and the Father, with his soft heart, was unfit to handle it.

No. This was the Primarch's order now.

 

* * *

 

Victus was mildly surprised at how easily he found sleep that night. His room smelled faintly of smoke and soot, but that was a smell he had long since learned to be comfortable with. Thankfully the apartment ventilation had cleared the bulk of it from the air and a simple washing was all that was needed to remove any odor from the bedding. His sleep was dreamless and peaceful. That was until his mind abruptly snapped into wakefulness, his subconsciousness having heard something he wouldn't be fully aware of until his feet touched the floor and he drew his pistol in one fluid movement, leveling it in the face of-

“Attilia,” he breathed, then immediately lowered his weapon.

She stood in the doorway, protected behind a biotic barrier she had raised in anticipation for his possible violent reaction at the unexpected awakening. Her proximity to the door placed her at a nice, safe distance from any flailing talons or fists. She had learned that lesson years ago.

“It's only me, sir,” she said with a voice that betrayed her fatigue. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you.”

She waited patiently in a parade rest for him to return his sidearm to its hiding place; a small compartment in the side paneling of his sunken bed. When he turned back to her, her eyes were looking everywhere else in the room, but him. Her mandibles were tight against her jaw as her eyes scanned the room with evident concern.

“What happened here?” Her gaze finally met his and he had to keep himself from flinching away at the anxious look she gave him. “Your living room, the hallway... Someone attacked you.”

“An explanation for a later time,” he replied. “Your mission. Was it successful?”

She looked like she wanted to argue his dismissive response, but she swallowed her follow up and allowed her military training to speak for her instead. Slowly, a weary smile softened her face before she said, “It was, sir.”

She approached him, raising her omni-tool as her feet carried her across the room. “I arrived at the facility within hours after landing on Earth. I took up an alias as one of the techs sent on the frigate, had some papers forged, and got myself admitted to the hospital as temporary staff. After that, it was about scouring their systems and security overrides.” As she spoke, her finger flew over the holographic interface of her omni-tool. After several swipes, her finger paused over the file she had been seeking and her crimson eyes rose to his face.

“You were correct, sir. Commander Shepard is alive. They've got her locked up tighter than Purgatory, but she was there.” The weary smile she'd worn earlier brightened as she said, “I... spoke with her.”

“Any casualties?” He asked.

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

“I recorded my approach to where they're keeping her in the event we need it later,” said Attilia before hitting play.

An image of off-white hospital walls hovered into view above Attilia's arm. The image was courtesy of the visor she'd dawned for the mission. Doors and windows passed quickly as the wearer walked briskly down the corridor, undoubtedly under the cover of her tactical cloak. People looked right past the camera as if the wearer wasn't even there.

At one point, two male humans appeared around a corner ahead, pushing a cart that took up most of the corridor's width. Victus felt his mandibles quirk into an amused smile as the viewpoint suddenly rolled sideways and then went completely upside down. The camera then glanced quickly at the faintly glowing talons that gripped the ceiling, cementing their owner in place.

“Never could resist showing off,” he uttered without removing his eyes from the footage.

Attilia chuckled at his quip.

 _"D'you hear what Matt said?"_ One of the humans asked the other.

 _"From HQ?"_ The other questioned.

 _"Yeah. I guess after communicating with the turian primarch, their systems got flooded with porn..._ Turian-human _porn."_

Victus felt Attilia's questioning stare against the side of his face and he cleared his throat. "My comms expert has a delightful sense of humor," he offered.

_"Do you believe everything you hear?"_

The camera looked down to watch the two humans pass underneath before the view flipped again and the infiltrator was back on her feet and moving. She encountered only four more humans on the way to her destination, but none of the encounters required further acrobatics on her part other than swiftly stepping out of the way when she had to.

At last, she approached a heavy steel door with a terminal mounted on the wall beside it. The Attilia-eye-view hesitated for the first time since her journey to this door began. Knowing that activating her omni-tool would draw attention even with her cloak activated, she took a quick precursory of her surroundings before raising the device.

First, she used her omni-tool to scan for life signs behind the door. She then raised a hand to her visor, causing the camera to shake slightly as she adjusted the settings. Suddenly, the picture devolved into a field of bright colors as the wearer changed the video to infrared. Dark blue took up most of the visibility with the exception of the terminal, which glowed a warm orange, and three human shaped bodies that burned a bright red on the other side of the blued door.

Attilia took the opportunity to scan her surroundings again, looking for any signs of approaching red bodies behind her, but when she found none, she returned her attention to the door. Raising her omni-tool again, voices that had previously been unheard were suddenly amplified, but only to the wearer. The omni-tool took the words and sent them silently to the earpiece in the visor, just above the wearers ear canal and, by proxy, whoever was watching the footage the said visor was recording.

“ _-going very well, Commander. At this rate I think you'll be on your feet proper in no time.”_

“ _I don't suppose there's been any word on my crew yet, is there?”_ Victus' eyes sharpened on the glowing, red humans. He would know that voice anywhere. It was the same voice that spoke to Tarquin, encouraging him to rally his men to complete his final mission.

“Commander Shepard,” he whispered. The disbelief in his tone was palpable even to him.

“ _No ma'am,”_ a female human replied. _“I'm sorry, but you can't let that hinder your recovery. I'm sure we'll get word soon.”_

“ _Yeah,”_ was Commander Shepard's response. Her lack of sub-harmonics did nothing to hide her doubt at the other human's weak platitude.

“ _Are you comfortable, Commander? Is there anything I can get you?”_ A male voice asked.

“ _Miranda Lawson?”_ The Commander answered immediately. _“Samara, Jack, Zaeed. Any one of my crew that were not on the_ Normandy _that night.”_

A sigh from one of the other humans- Victus couldn't be sure which one, and then, _“we haven't been able to reach them, ma'am, but we'll keep trying.”_

“ _Are you even trying?”_ Commander Shepard's question dripped with suspicion and Victus could almost picture her cold, sideways look. It was the very same one she'd bestowed upon him when he evaded her questions on the details of Tarquin's mission.

“ _Of course we are, ma'am- oh! Why didn't you tell us you were out of water? Brandon would you mind?”_

“ _Of course, doctor,”_ said the male- _Brandon_ , and his red silhouette turned to head for the door. When he grew close, Attilia stepped to the side to allow the door to open. For a second, her vision was filled with red as Brandon passed her and before the door could shut behind him, Attila slipped inside undetected.

The camera panned sideways to the left, and then it bumped backwards a step as Attilia flattened her carapace against the wall. The stark colors indicating the heat sources in the room dissipated when she decided to switch the camera to visual again. Now Victus could truly see the Commander in her current state.

She laid in a hospital bed with plastic support rails on either side of her, and a walker parked within arms reach. Blue sheets hid most of her body from view, but they did little to hide the frailness that had developed in the year since he'd last seen her. Her face had grown gaunt and several shades paler than what he remembered. Her red hair hung messy and loose around her neck in contrast to the way she used to have it tied up, dangling above her neck. Aside from the recording of Garrus' that he watched, he couldn't recall seeing her with her hair loose, but from what he remembered of that night, her hair used to be longer than it was now. Was it regrowing from having been cropped short at one time?

Then Victus noticed the extensive scarring that ran the length of her arms up to her neck and parts of her face. From burns, he suspected, which would explain the shortness of her hair. She must have been caught up in an explosion and shielded what she could of her face with her arms.

Yet, despite the burns, the scaring, the frailness, the hospital bed, and the walker, there was something about the woman that struck Victus as she did when he first met her. She laid prone on the cot, but not weakened. The spark- the _defiance,_ in her eyes was as prevalent as ever when she lifted her chin and fixed the doctor with a chilly glare.

“ _Hackett hasn't been down to see me for a while. Why is that, I wonder.”_ Her question would have sounded innocent if not for her alert eyes, scanning the other woman's face for any ounce of truth beneath the coming bullshit she seemed to anticipate.

“ _I'm sorry, Commander, but he's been re-stationed.”_ Commander Shepard's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“ _Why?”_

“ _I'm not apprised to that sort of information.”_

An exacerbated sigh escaped the Commander and her eyes flickered away from the doctor to settle on the far wall. Apparently, she'd given up any further attempts to pry information from the tight lipped, or simply uninformed, doctor.

“ _Brandon will return shortly with more water,”_ said the doctor as she tucked away the datapad she had been poking at into pocket of her lab coat. _“We'll go for another round of P.T tomorrow, Commander. Same time. Have a pleasant evening.”_

Commander Shepard said nothing in response as the doctor turned from her bedside and moved toward the door. At the sound of the door closing behind the doctor, something unexpected happened; Commander Shepard's eyes moved from the wall in front of her to settle directly on the still-cloaked turian in the room.

“ _That's a nice cloak,”_ she opined. _“Wish mine lasted that long.”_

Victus could only imagine Attilia's shock.

He caught a brief second of the tell-tale flicker of a deactivated tactical cloak as Attilia abandoned her thwarted subterfuge. Commander Shepard demonstrated her experience of turian facial expressions by reading Attilia's apparent surprise by supplying, _“I have an eye for it.”_

“ _So I've heard,”_ said Attilia as she slowly approached the bed, which caused the Commander to stiffen. She was clearly uncomfortable with the turian's approach. Attilia halted and told her, _“It's alright, Commander. I'm here on behalf of a mutual friend.”_

“ _A rescue mission, I hope.”_

“ _So you_ are _here against your will,”_ Attilia stated.

The Commander scoffed. _“There's an understatement if I ever heard one.”_

“ _I'm afraid I'm only here to observe, Commander.”_

Shepard lifted her arms from the bed and spread them in a mock presentation of her body. _“Observe away.”_ Her hands returned to her sides as a sad smile crept slowly across her features. _“It's not like I'm going anywhere any time soon. I'm getting stronger but... legs aren't working so well these days.”_

“ _How long have you been here?”_

The human shrugged at the question. _“Wish I knew. I woke up here.”_ Then a crease formed in her brow and she stared hard at the blue sheet covering her legs. _“I think that was two months ago.”_

Before Attilia could give voice to any more questions, Commander Shepard met her gaze with an expression he could only describe as earnest. _“Now it's my turn to ask questions.”_ Her tiny hands rose from the bed to grip the rails at her sides. She then hoisted her upper body into a sitting position, grunting under the strain the action caused her. Once she was satisfied with her elevated position, she met Attilia's eyes with a look that had intensified ten-fold.

“ _When the staff here isn't lying, they're dodging questions. My crew; Is it true the_ Normandy _disappeared?”_

“ _Yes.”_ The commander looked away, crestfallen, so Attilia hastened the next part of her answer. _“And been found. Six months ago.”_

“ _Six months ago,”_ the commander echoed in a voice devoid of its usual strength. _“Son of a bitch.”_ Her knuckles whitened as her hands gripped the railings. _“They've known for six months and they kept that from me... and that means me from them as well.”_

The loyalty of her crew was clearly not lost on the Commander. She knew they'd come for her if they could. If they knew.

She sighed loudly before her eyes lifted to meet Attilia's again. _“So... this mutual friend of ours-”_

“ _-Is very interested in your well-being,”_ Attilia was quick to cut the commander off. If she was caught and this footage was taken, she could not allow it to be traced back to her Primarch. Shepard's mouth hung slightly open, caught on the last word she had managed, but a look of understanding crossed her eyes and her mouth closed. Her lips pressed tightly together, wanting to say more, but knowing she could only ask so much.

“ _You should get going before Brandon gets back. He shouldn't be much longer,”_ she grimly informed.

“ _I'll make sure our mutual friend sees this, Commander. You have my word.”_

“ _Then what?”_

Attilia hesitated. _“I... I don't know. It isn't my call.”_

Commander Shepard watched the female turian curiously. Her eyes traveled up her body and then finally came to rest on her visor, staring into, not only Attilia's eyes, but whoever would be watching this footage later. There was a comprehension in her gaze that made Victus suspect that she knew exactly who that person would be.

“ _Thank you.”_ Her tone implied that the turian before her was not the sole recipient of her gratitude. Attilia turned for the door, but didn't make it far when Shepard's voice halted her feet. _“Before you go, may I ask a favor?”_

When Attilia turned to regard the commander, she was met by the sight of a genuine smile.

“ _If our mutual friend is who I think it is, then I'm sure they'd be willing to pass a message on to someone for me.”_ It was a polite request meant to conceal a direct order and Victus was under no illusion that she was unaware who the order was for. He couldn't help but smile, glad to see that even bedridden, she was still every bit the impressive Commander he'd met months ago.

Her smile suddenly brightened, crinkling the corners of her eyes. Victus' unfamiliarity with this particular smile was what lead him to believe that it was meant for neither himself or Attilia. _“I followed your order, Big Guy.”_

The camera shook under the tapping of the turian's talon just before the footage cut out entirely. Commander Shepard disappeared from his sight, replaced by the darkened walls of his bedroom.

“I shorted out the cameras before I left. There's no evidence that I was ever there." Victus felt the weight of Attilia's eyes on him when she asked, “Do you know who she was referring to, sir?”

“I have a pretty solid estimation, yes.”

“Good,” she nodded. “I was hoping you would.”

“Oh?” He regarded the Watcher with an amused look. “Am I detecting a slight case of hero worship?”

Attilia's maxilla flared bashfully. She then shifted her weight onto the pillar of her right thigh, opening up space between herself and Victus. Her arms folded across the expanse of her carapace, creating a defensive nature to her posture.

“She rose up from nothing. She even ran with a gang as a teenager, but she didn't let that hold her down. Look what she became, all she's done. Is it really so surprising that I find her to be someone I can relate to?”

Suddenly Victus felt ashamed at the insensitivity of his question. He allowed his posture to drop from its habitual professionalism as his sub-harmonics thrummed his apology. She quirked a smile that let him know that no harm was done, but he couldn't help but notice the effort behind it.

Victus squinted at the Black Watch turian, suddenly realizing just how tired she looked. Or maybe she was just that proficient at hiding it. The thin skin around her eyes looked sunken and her mandibles hung lazily from her face. The squared posture he had all but beaten into her years ago was nowhere to be seen, replaced by slumped, weary shoulders.

“When was the last time you slept?” He asked.

Attila paused to think before answering, “not since Earth.”

“With the use of stims?”

“Yes, sir. I couldn't risk being found on the frigate. I needed to stay alert.”

“I assume you didn't sleep much on Earth.”

Another pause, but this was brought on from a hesitancy to answer a superior. Victus growled a warning at her silence.

“No, sir.”

“Then stay here. I'll take the couch.”

Her tired eyes widened, surprised at the offer. Several seconds ticked by before she gave an answer, though it was not one Victus expected. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

He watched as she took a deep breath, seemingly to steel her nerves. “With respect, I'm more concerned about you.”

 _'Ah_. _We return to her initial question upon arrival.'_

“And I said, 'a topic for another time,'” was his response as he made for the bedroom door to leave her. It was a response that left no room for argument.

“Are you kidding me?” He heard just as he was about to pass through the entrance.

Argue, she did. Victus rotated on the spot, allowing the General to step in and he fixed his subordinate with a stare that let her know it. He saw her recoil, but only slightly before she raised her chin and returned her own look of defiance.

“I walk in here and find that your home has been turned into a war zone and you expect me to just drop it-”

“Yes.” The word was cold, clipped. “I do, because that was the order you were given. Follow. It.” He turned away from her, intent on leaving.

“Is that what you would say to Tarquin if he found you like this?”

The question abruptly halted his feet. Slowly, he rotated on the spot to level his eyes with her own. Something in his expression made her flinch and her right foot shifted slightly backwards.

“What did you say?” He took a step towards her. This time, both of her feet moved backwards, but her head remained high.

“I worry about you, sir,” she confessed. “You... you were like the father I never had.”

Victus terminated his advance to stare at the younger turian before him. She regarded him coolly, but he could see the flicker of fear behind her eyes. Slowly, he felt the anger ebb from him and his rigid posture deflated.

“Not just to me. To Barro, to Macedox, to Sentrill. All of us, really,” she went on, feeling emboldened by the change in his disposition. “Everyone in the platoon respected you. Trusted you implicitly. You know that... but you meant more to us than just our general.” This time, she stepped towards him and he remained motionless. “And when these damn biotics flared up-” She raised her hands, punctuating her sentence by illuminating the room in a bright blue hue. “You were there looking out for me.”

She was mere feet from him now. “I never met your son, but I think he would want someone looking out for you too. What I'm trying to say is, damn it, let someone else care about your well-being for a change.”

She looked tempted to reach for him, but ultimately resisted. _'Good,'_ he thought. He wasn't sure he had it in him to push her away. Not after such a heartfelt confession that inveigled him to succumb to the fatherly instinct lying dormant in his heart.

He couldn't. He knew that.

She saw him as the replacement to the father that upped and left her and her mother one day. Whether he was killed in some back ally on Omega or simply decided to leave, Victus had inadvertently stepped into his place.

He reached for her shoulder and gave it a companionable squeeze as he gently told her, “I can't.”

She didn't bother to hide her despondent reaction. Her crimson eyes sought solace in the floor beneath her feet and her sub-harmonics trilled sadly.

“Attilia, knowing I have you at my back is enough.” He raised her chin with the side of his knuckle, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You have made this old general proud.”

From the depths of her disappointment, a smile forced its way to the surface and her eyes lit up anew. “Thank you, sir.”

 

\----

 

He paced his living room, careful to keep his footsteps soft so as not to awaken the passed out Watcher down the hall. That took some amount of concentration, but not enough to distract his thoughts from the new problem at hand; What to do with this new found information.

It would seem that with one question answered, more popped up in its place. Why is the Alliance keeping Commander Shepard hidden? What would they possibly have to gain from locking away their most influential and powerful figure from the public?

Then again, it wouldn't be the first time the Alliance put their image above Shepard's, having had her in lockup right up to the reaper invasion in order to appease the Hegemony. Perhaps that's what this was about?

Same shit, different day.

Victus shook his head, dismissing the thought. Surely, the Alliance wouldn't be so foolish as to reopen that old wound after everything the woman had done for the galaxy. Certainly, leading the fight against galactic annihilation would have been reprieve enough for her so-called crimes.

 _'More pertinent to the point,'_ Victus thought to himself. _'What business does the Alliance have locking up a Council Spectre in the first place?'_ With that query in mind, his thoughts drifted to that of Sparatus. Victus never saw eye to eye with the man and, according to Garrus, neither did Shepard. Then the reapers attacked and the two seemed to patch things up. The Council did nothing when the Alliance locked the Commander up the first time. _'Would you do the same again, Sparatus?'_

His knees locked up like he'd just walked into a solid wall as an idea dawned on him.

Adrien crept swiftly down the hallway, stopping at his door frame. The remains of the actual door still laid sprawled on the floor of his bedroom. He paused to listen for the sounds of a deeply dreaming turian. He heard them. Good. Victus stepped carefully into the bedroom, mindful of the rustling of his feet as he retrieved his boots and made his quiet escape into the night.

If Attilia woke to find him missing, she'd be upset with him, he knew, but for his budding plan to come to fruition, he needed to put his Step Three into action. There was only one preparation he needed to complete prior to that, which was what led him outside Garrus' door at 0300 hours.

While flying to the location, he sent one warning message to Garrus, knowing the notification beep would be more than enough to wake the younger turian.

_**I'm coming over.** _

His assumption was correct because he only had to knock once before the (recently installed) door _whooshed_ open to admit his entrance. The door was quick to close after the Primarch entered and, he suspected, locked behind him.

Garrus was waiting for him in the living room with an unimpressed frown set on his features. His eyes blinked blearily at him, no doubt having been sound asleep before his interruption. It was still a pleasant change compared to the state he was in the last time Victus had visited his home. He hoped there would be less punches thrown this time.

“Too tired to make a joke about the door, Vakarian?” Victus asked with his mandibles pulled into a smirk. "You'll have to forgive my disappointment."

“You are way too energetic for three in the morning,” Garrus grumbled. He moved toward his couch, his steps heavy with sleep, and flopped himself unceremoniously down upon it. He glanced up at Victus from his seat and asked, “What's this about, Victus?”

Victus took a second to raise the holo-interface of his omni-tool. Through the opaque, orange glow, his alert eyes locked onto Garrus' tired ones, his smirk never falling from his face. “I came here tonight to show you that you were correct, Vakarian.”

The fatigue fled from Garrus' eyes the instant the last two words left Victus' mouth. His blue gaze intensified, sharpening with a silent threat of bodily harm should the Primarch stop talking now.

“As you expected, Commander Shepard is alive.” He sent the footage he had obtained from Attilia to Garrus' device. It seemed Garrus' fingers couldn't move fast enough to hit the play button after he received it and, together, the two men watched the footage. Garrus watched from his perch, but Victus chose to remain standing.

He had never seen Garrus look so focused than he did in that moment. Victus could tell he was taking in the recording with a trained eye, making mental note of every twist and turn. Every stock photo, framed on the walls, were potential land marks to identify the location should he need to use it later.

“ _-going very well, Commander. At this rate you'll be on your feet proper in no time.”_ Just before the time stamp when Victus knew the audio would start, he redirected his eyes to watch for Garrus' reaction. He watched his eyes widen with disbelief at the mention of her title.

Then the Commander spoke. _“I don't suppose there's been any word on my crew yet, is there?”_ He heard the hitch in Garrus' breath and watched the anticipation grow on his features. Anxious for that door to open and when it finally did, Garrus did not suppress the keen that escaped him when he saw her.

His finger quickly rose to pause the footage, to freeze it in time so he could simply stare at her image. Victus waited quietly to allow the younger turian to take all the time he needed to confirm to himself that the woman he had been pining for is, in fact, alive somewhere. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he hit play again and watched the rest with rapt attention.

“ _That's a nice cloak.”_ Laughter left Garrus in a rush of air and he smiled fondly at the tiny human.

His smile would remain for most of Attila and Shepard's exchange, only faltering when he had to swallow both his sorrow and relief.

 _“If our mutual friend is who I think it is, then I'm sure they'd be willing to pass a message on to someone for me.”_ Garrus' smile faded completely and his eyes flickered quickly between the screen and the Primarch. Clearly, the order in her words was not lost on him either and he looked to Victus with surprise on his face. If circumstances were different, Victus would have found it comical.

“ _I followed your order, Big Guy.”_

“Shepard.” The name left Garrus in a breath of air, as if merely uttering it was the perfect balm to ease his pain and anguish.

“For a man that didn't believe her to be dead, you seem surprised,” Victus observed.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Don't know why. Shepard is a krogan-headbutting cyborg who looked at a highly trained yahg with three different super shields and a massively powerful, close-combat weapon and decided that fighting it in melee was a reasonable plan.”

Victus squinted dubiously at the other turian. "That's... quite a story."

Garrus grinned before continuing with, “As it turned out, she was correct on that one. So of course she survived this. But... after a year of nothing until finally this...” Garrus trailed off and his eyes closed as he endeavored to rein in his emotions. When they eventually reopened, they predictably fell on the widow mounted on the far wall.

“No.” Victus said the word with all the conviction needed to pierce through the wall of anger he knew Garrus had erected. His blue eyes left his rifle to burn holes into Victus' face, daring him to try and stop him. “This is bigger than her, Garrus. I know it's hard, but you must control your anger.”

“How long have you known?” He seethed the question, the words reverberated by an angry growl.

Was this that Arch Angel character he had heard so much about? Victus began to wonder if Garrus also finds himself at war with different sides of himself; yet another thing they have in common, it seemed.

“Officially,” Victus began. He kept his tone just as calm and stoic as his facial expression as he faced the Garrus-shaped storm before him. “Only tonight, but I've had my suspicions for a little over a week now. Since I last spoke with Hackett.”

Garrus' eyes widened for a fraction of a second before they narrowed angrily. “Since you last spoke with-” His growl rumbled louder from his chest. “You told me-”

“I lied.”

Victus ignored the way his heart clenched when he saw the betrayal in the younger turian's eyes and he was careful to keep it from reflecting on his face. He tried to look past how it was reminiscent of the way Tarquin looked at him that night he ordered him to Tuchunka. It was like he was seeing him for the monster he had become.

“Why?” Garrus demanded.

Not wanting to be responsible for driving a rift between Garrus and his sister, Victus chose to leave Solana, and her request for secrecy, out of his explanation, as he answered with, “I had no proof until now. I didn't want to ruin all the progress you've made on an unproven suspicion.”

“That wasn't your choice to make,” He accused.

“You're right,” Victus conceded. “And as much as I'd like to apologize, I can't because, as I said, this is bigger than her.”

“ _How?_ ” Garrus snarled.

“Because the Alliance tried to kill me.” The anger drained from Garrus' face and his mandibles slackened with shock.

“ _They_ sent that assassin?”

Victus nodded. “Well, them and Primarch Devius Agoril. How long he and the Alliance have been in communications, I can't say. I suspect that it has something to do with my asking about Commander Shepard because after I did, I received an S.O.S signal. I think it was a warning, possibly from Hackett himself.”

Garrus quieted as his eyes looked to his rifle once again. He might have been simply searching for something to say, but Victus got the impression that a fissure of guilt might have been what drove Garrus' eyes to look at anything else but him. Perhaps he felt responsible for the attack. His hunch was confirmed when he uttered, "you were attacked because you did me a favor."

"I don't think it's so simple as that. They likely just saw it as an excuse to launch what would be an inevitable assault." In an attempt to lighten the mood, Victus quipped. "I suppose having an assassin sent after me is a sign that I'm moving up in my standing as a world leader."

Garrus didn't laugh. “I don't know Hackett well, but Shepard was loyal to him.” His mandibles flicked into a bitter smile when he said, “Probably to a fault.” Both his smile and eyes lingered on the rifle a second longer before the former dissipated and his gaze returned to the Primarch. “My point is, the man was a pain in the ass at times, but I don't think he's a traitor.”

Victus nodded. “I agree, but to whom is he not betraying? Myself or the Alliance?”

Garrus didn't have an answer right away. Victus could see the gears turning behind his eyes as he looked for one. Finally he said, “The Alliance... unless something has changed. According to this footage, he knows about Shepard and if what I know of the man is correct, I don't think he would approve.” Garrus' gaze fell to the clenched fists in his lap. “At least, I hope not.”

“We're on the same page then,” Victus concurred. “Garrus, I withheld my suspicions because my first priority is to maintain peace between Palaven and Earth. I have already put that peace at risk by sending an agent to Earth in the first place.”

“You could have deleted this,” Garrus pointed out, his gaze still trained on his lap. “You could have and I would have never known, which leads me to believe that you have a plan.” His eyes finally lifted and something akin to cautious hope reflected in their blue depths. “Let's hear it.”

Victus offered an encouraging smile. “I was wondering when you'd ask me that. Commander Shepard is an Alliance soldier which means, as the Primarch, there isn't much I can do without jeopardizing the relationship between our planet and Earth. However, Shepard is also a Spectre, and there are only a select few who have absolute and, most importantly, _neutral_ jurisdiction over the Spectres.”

Victus watched for the dawning realization he knew he'd see on Garrus' face. He was not disappointed.

“You're going to accept your nomination as turian Councilor.” He concluded. “You... would do that for her?”

“In part, yes, but not entirely. I'm also taking into account the knowledge you shared with me on these... Leviathans. With the reapers gone, I want to make sure they won't become our next threat and I can better do that with the resources my new role as Councilor will grant me. If and when the day comes when they launch an assault against us, we'll be ready.

“There's also the fact that, out of all the remaining Primarchs, I have the most experience working closely with the other races with my time spent on both the _Normandy_ and Earth. The position will allow me to ensure that peace will continue between the Hierarchy, the humans, and the krogan.” His voice darkened as he continued. “Then there's the matter of the asari blatantly ignoring the law, they themselves enacted, and withheld that Prothean beacon. Who knows how many lives could have been spared had they shared that valuable information with us from the start. Instead they chose to hide it so they could continue to pretend to be the inherently superior species. I haven't forgotten that. And the salarians, treating our alliance as a last resort and then pulling their fleets when they didn't get what they wanted. I mean to ensure that the asari and the salarians never outdo us in power and influence again." A pregnant silence settled between himself and Garrus. It was only broken when Victus finished with, “in short, it has to be me.”

Garrus eyed the Primarch for several heartbeats, but eventually a slow smile began to grow on his face. Then, with a reminiscent look in his eyes, he said, “Someone else would get it wrong.”

Victus huffed a laugh. “I suppose. Yes.” Then his face grew serious again and he stepped away from Garrus in order to slowly pace the length of the room, arms folded habitually behind his back. He said, “To that end, I have work to do. First, I need to officially accept my role face to face with the other Primarchs. I have already sent a message out to schedule a meeting. Should that meeting go awry-”

“Expecting trouble?” Garrus interrupted.

Victus ceased his pacing to look at Garrus, his mandibles fixed in a wry smile. “Should things go south, I wanted you to know the truth.”

Garrus trilled his gratitude, but he looked at Victus with open skepticism. “Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but short of knocking skulls and kicking down doors, what can I do?"

“As Garrus Vakarian, adviser to the Primarch? Not much. As Garrus Vakarian, first appointed Spectre by Councilor Adrien Victus?”

He allowed the question to linger between them and he observed, with amusement, the way Garrus' eyes widened with shock.

“Does that mean you accept?” Victus knew the question was needless.

“Definitely,” was Garrus' immediate response.

“Good. Hopefully, knocking skulls and kicking down doors will be unnecessary, but should it come to that, you'll be able to do so with full authority.” Victus turned to fully face Garrus and was pleased to see the determination in his eyes.

“Now then, Spectre Vakarian... Let's get your human back.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Beth Ad Astra](http://bethadastra.tumblr.com/) is behind the lovely creation you see after the second act of this chapter.


	17. Chapter 17

His skycar made it's descent at 1046. Once landed, Victus gathered two datapads he had left on the passenger seat and activated the hatch before stepping out of the car. The hatch lowered behind him with a _hiss_ and he found himself staring up at the recently repaired Vakarian home.

As he approached the door, he couldn't help but pause to take in his surroundings, feeling oddly nostalgic. He had never visited the Vakarians at their residence before, but there was still something familiar, something comfortable about the setting.

The house had been restored to living conditions, but the property still looked like it had seen better days. He could see remnants of flower beds strategically placed against the house and in spots in the yard, though some stuck up half buried in the ground. Old fruit trees stood like pillars, drawing lines of shade along the dry soil. At least they looked like fruit trees from what he could tell from the ones that still clutched to life while some of their brethren stood blackened and dead beside them.

Before the reapers attacked, someone used to garden here. Garrus' mother, perhaps?

He lingered with his back to the front door, his eyes fixed on the decayed landscape. He imagined a very young Garrus and Solana, racing around the trees, laughing and playing. He could almost picture it with perfect clarity. Garrus would spring from a bush and look up with bright, innocent eyes and smile.

Green eyes.

“Dad!” Tarquin would cheerfully call, but there was no other playmate in the yard with him. He was alone.

He died alone.

“Primarch.” His title was said as a greeting, but the sub-harmonics emitted a question behind it. Victus whirled around, surprised to find that the front door had opened and Castis Vakarian stood there, watching him.

How long had he been standing there? He wasn't sure who that question applied to more; himself or Castis.

Victus cleared his throat and made an attempt to regain his composure.

“May I come in?” He asked.

“Of course.” Despite his acquiescence, Castis didn't move right away. Instead, he followed the path Victus' eyes had taken. He looked around his ruined yard before his eyes returned to Victus.

“Never was much of a gardener,” he admitted. “My bondmate was though. If she could see the state of her work now...” He trailed off, replacing his lost words with a huff of laughter.

“I'm sorry, it wasn't that. I was just...” What? He looked at Castis again and noticed something in his face; the sad look in his eyes, and the way he tried to hide it. He only recognized it because he had seen it in himself times beyond counting. He was lonely. Maybe he missed his children too. They weren't dead, but they were both adults now and had gone from the nest. Victus had to remind himself that Castis had gotten a taste for what it was like to lose a child. It was only six months ago that he had thought his son dead and before that, he had received what Garrus had intended to be a last phone call. He didn't even want to imagine what a call like that from Tarquin would sound like.

“They grow up fast, don't they?” Victus asked.

Castis looked at him, somewhat caught off guard by the question. Then a mandible twitched outward into a sad smile and suddenly, there was an understanding between the two men. They looked out over the desecrated yard, both hearing the laughter of their children like ghosts on the wind.

Lieutenant. Captain. General. Primarch. Soon Councilor. Victus would discover too late that none of those titles would ever be more rewarding than Dad.

“They do,” Castis agreed. After a moment, he cleared his throat and returned his gaze to the Primarch. “But I don't think you came here to look at my yard, sir.”

Victus met his eyes and replied with a firm, “No.”

Castis stepped aside and allowed Victus to enter his home.

“Beer?” Castis offered once they were both inside.

Victus nodded absently as he walked slowly around the living room, spotting several pieces of memorabilia adorning the walls and brackets. Medals and plaques were carefully placed around the living room and pictures were displayed on shelves. A common subject for the photos was the family themselves. Garrus and Solana at various stages of their lives and a smiling turian women that very closely resembled Solana.

An absurd amount of jealousy rose unexpectedly within him. Victus didn't keep any pictures of his family on display. Neither he nor Magrim were big on taking pictures. He had a few stored on his omni-tool, sure, and there _were_ some back at his old home, but he found them just as damaged and destroyed as the rest of his house.

Then he had chucked what was left of them at the dead reaper.

Victus stopped when his eyes fell upon a photo he did not expect to see. He picked it up and looked down upon a picture of Commander Shepard, dwarfed by the turian beside her. It looked like someone had captured the scene without their knowledge. A squad mate most likely. The picture was taken from behind, capturing both the Commander and Garrus standing shoulder to shoulder on a cliff edge with a bright orange sunset in front of them. They appeared to be on a dusty, desert planet Victus didn't recognize. At first, he thought Tuchunka but the atmosphere was too clean and at no point did they have a moment to stop and watch a sunset. Was it Rannoch?

They both stood with an arm bent, supporting the hefty weights of their widows. The butts of their rifles rested on their hips with the barrels pointed up toward the sky. They held their guns with the outside arm, allowing the fingers of their inside hands to brush against each other. Commander Shepard's kuwashii visor hung loosely in her fingers.

They had been fighting, evidenced by the blackened and burned marks that marred their armor. Fire from energy weapons, Victus suspected. There was black soot smeared on her cheek. Garrus had told him of the events that took place on the quarian homeworld, but his account was largely unnecessary. Commander Shepard's exploits traveled far and wide from that planet. By the end of the week, the whole galaxy knew the woman had taken on a reaper armed with only a missile targeter. Only months later, sitting in Sam's bar, would Victus hear about the heart attack she had nearly given her turian lover.

He couldn't see Garrus' face in the picture. He was looking off into the sky, unaware that the tiny human beside him was grinning up at him with the kind of look in her eyes that translated across species. After everything she had just gone through, the turian beside her was the center of her attention. Like he was her reward for coming back alive.

Magrim used to look at him that way.

Victus heard Castis reenter the room from the kitchen and he looked up at him questioningly as the senior Vakarian approached him with a beer in each hand. When he recognized the picture in Victus' hands, he offered a sad smile.

“The day we came home from the restaurant,” he began. “After Garrus had that breakdown, we had a long talk. I told him that I heard his sub-vocals, that there was no point in denial... So he told me everything.” Castis bent to place the beers on the kava table before reaching to take the picture into his hands. He looked down at it, eyes never leaving it as he said, “I think he expected me to object... toss him out. That's my fault, really.”

Regret reverberated in the man's sub-harmonics. His eyes were glued on his son's back, as memories fleeted across them.

Victus knew all too well what it was like to realize your parenting mistakes.

“So, a few days later, I surprised him when I asked if I could have a picture of her. Of them. He gave me this one, said it was his favorite. She probably would have been my daughter-in-law if things... if circumstances were different.”

 _'She still could be,'_ Victus was tempted to say, but he refrained. That topic wasn't important right now and besides, that was news Garrus would want to share when the time was right.

“Admittedly, she wasn't my first choice, but how could I object, especially after looking at this? She certainly loved my son. That much is clear.” Castis placed the picture back on the shelf and moved to take his seat in an arm chair, tilted to face the couch. Victus took the silent invite to sit down, reaching to grab his beer once he was settled on the couch.

“Primarch, I know you didn't come to look at my yard and you're definitely not here to look at my pictures. Is this about the investigation into the attack?”

“No.”

“I didn't think so either.” Castis sighed, which gave Victus the inclination that he knew exactly the purpose for his visit.

Seeing no need to further beat around the bush, Victus launched right into his explanation. “I've been officially nominated to step in as Turian Councilor... and I've decided to accept. Garrus has abdicated his position, which leaves you next in line, Castis.” Victus paused for a moment to watch the other turian study the beer in his hand. “You've spent enough time in and around my office and the meetings to adequately accept or decline. Though, I admit, I'm hoping for the former.”

Castis continued to stare at his beer. Silent. Victus took a sip of his own while he waited.

“Victus, I'm not a politician,” he finally said.

“Neither was I.”

“Nor was I a general. I was an officer of Citadel Security.”

“You were captain. Well respected by both your men and the Hierarchy.” Victus smiled. “Not even I had the latter. If you had remained in the military, risen to general, they would have placed you ahead of me. Of that I have no doubt.”

Sensing Castis was still unconvinced, Victus withdrew one of his two data pads from his coat pocket and leaned over to hand it the senior Vakarian. “Go on. Read it,” he ordered.

Castis glanced down at the datapad Victus had placed in his hand, his browplate pulled down in confusion.

“It's a number,” he stated simply.

“Eighty-nine million births this last year, and that's just Palaven,” Victus told him. “It's significantly lower than the pre-war number, but my point remains. Eighty-nine million babies were born because of the work done by you and your son. Granted, your son did most of the work, but it would have all been for nought without you to bring it to Fedorian. You know as well as I that he would not have listened to Garrus for even a moment." Victus shifted his weight forward and stressed. " _I_ wouldn't have listened to Garrus, but Fedorian would listen to you because he trusted your integrity. He was your friend. Without that information, without those six months of planning, you and I would not be sitting here right now.” Victus reached across the kava table to reclaim the datapad. “You have already been acting with the best interests of Palaven and her people at heart and not merely in the time leading up to the war.”

Castis' blue eyes rose from his beer to meet Victus' intense gaze.

“How many refugees did you help on Palaven before yourself, hundreds? Thousands? Guiding them through trenches and onto shuttles. The horrors you faced with them... but you never abandoned them-”

“I did.” Castis broke in, but not angrily. “I got myself and Solana on one of the last shuttles to escape Cipritine. I fled in the end.”

“You had a daughter with a broken leg to look after at that point. She needed you and Spirits know Solana wouldn't have left you behind. As protective as that girl is over you and Garrus, she would have dragged her broken leg through those trenches to stay with you and you know it.” Castis winced slightly at the truth of his words so Victus supplied him a sympathetic thrum. “You stayed as long as you could, saved all that you could and you continued to look out for them even after the dust settled. How many lives have you improved since starting up your new police team? How many muggings have you stopped? How many rapes? How many murders?” Victus held up the reacquired datapad, gesticulating with it for emphasis on each of his questions. “How many from this number were refugees you personally saved from the reapers?”

Castis gave him no answers, so Victus continued. “They _know_ , Castis. The people, they know what kind of man you are.” He flicked a mandible into a good-natured smirk. “They love me. I know that now... and I can't imagine anyone else they'd accept in my place.” His smirk slid from his face and Victus stared intently at Castis. “And I love _them_. _I_ can't imagine anyone else taking care of them in my place.”

Victus pulled out his second datapad and handed it over to Castis. As he began reading, Victus went on. “Leviathans, Garrus called them. They might become a threat, they might not. I intend to ensure they don't, but I need someone in charge of the Hierarchy I can trust. That my adviser trusts. It is imperative that our alliance with Earth withstands because united, I believe our collective forces would be unstoppable even against the Leviathans." Victus glanced behind him where he knew the picture of Commander Shepard and Garrus had been placed. "You just told me you were willing to accept a human as part of your family. That's all the proof I need that you are more than capable of sustaining relations with our new neighbors."

Victus tore his eyes from the photo to find that Castis' had paused his reading to follow the direction of his stare. "My new position will allow me to make sure the rest of the galaxy is aware and ready should the time come, but I can't do that and be Chief Primarch at the same time.” When Castis finished reading and looked back up from the datapad, Victus told him, “There's no one else I'd feel more comfortable handing Palaven over to.”

Castis held his gaze while the seconds ticked by in heartbeats. After what felt like an eternity, Castis sighed deeply before saying, “Have you always been this charismatic?”

Victus blinked at his unexpected question before a bark of laughter left him. His mandibles fluttered into a genuine smile before he replied, “Ah-no. It's a talent I developed fairly recently. A work requirement, as it turns out.”

“Then I suppose I better start practicing.”

Victus' smile melted away, his face steeling at the implication of Castis' statement. “Does that mean you accept?”

Castis raised his mostly-untouched beer to his maw and took several seconds to down the bubbly liquid inside. It was a final act of freedom before a man embraces servitude. He then placed the empty glass bottle on the kava table, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and met Victus' gaze.

“I accept.”

Victus was just able to rein in his sigh of relief. Instead, he stood from the couch and reached for Castis' shoulder. His talons bit into the material of his shirt as he stared intently into the man's face. His sub-vocals hummed with immense gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said, as his hand gave Castis' shoulder a firm shake. Then he told him, "Now, there are some things you need to be caught up on."

 

* * *

 

Meetings between Primarchs had been common practice since turians first started colonizing other worlds. Typically, gatherings were a once a month occurrence in order to discuss the goings on of each respective colony. Usually grievances, Victus had learned, of which there were many, but they also chatted about progress, technology, and general politics.

The credits and time required for all Primarchs to travel at once was substantial and that wasn't including the security risk involved with collecting all the turian world leaders in one convenient spot. That's why ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, such meetings are conducted via holo-interface, with a few exceptions. One of which is when a diplomat, and not necessarily a Primarch, is accepting his or her nomination as Turian Councilor, which was not a common occurrence.

That law was enacted centuries ago to, “ _Properly evaluate the integrity, aptitude, and capacities of the Citadel representative without technological interference_.” There was reason for it, he supposed. The Councilor would be the face of their collective colonies so they had cause to insure the pick was right. Though, by and large, it ultimately boiled down to more political bullshit, Victus had reasoned, but as he sat and waited in his seat, he was thankful for the law now.

The meeting time and location were randomly generated and only sent out after each Primarch had safely left their world. The place and time, in this instance, was City Hall in the relatively new city of Practis at 0245.

Before the reaper invasion, Practis was regarded as one of Palaven's most beautiful cities, second only to Cipritine herself. It was built atop an Oasis, located in the middle of the Pardavox desert. The architecture of the metropolis was much more modern than the rest of Palaven, but with an artistic touch unique to the city. That was due to the overall artistic culture of the Practisian people, at least compared to the other establishments on Palaven.

A common tradition seen in Practisian buildings was to inlay the interior with wood or other artificial planks. Any free wood-covered wall was carved with inscriptions of turian calligraphy. Fonts, sizes and content varied greatly. Since homes were usually passed from generation to generation, the inscriptions could be memoirs or messages from ancestors that once inhabited the house or place of business. It could also be prayers, dedications, song lyrics, poems, et cetera. It's believed that each generation should leave its mark on the wall for the next one.

Practis' City Hall was no exception to that tradition. The walls of the room he sat in were covered floor to ceiling in calligraphy, written by the hands of the thousands of turians before him. Song lyrics long-since forgotten and words of advice intermixed with more lighthearted content such as, _Talera loves Naxus_ or _Tiberso Domitidonis has smelly plate rot._ The latter sort of writing was a minority in the face of the more principled writings but still, Victus spared a thought for poor Tiberso Domitidonis _._ Hopefully he got his plate rot under control and took revenge against the person who would broadcast such a personal ailment.

Victus stood from his seat and began to walk the perimeter of the room. He slowly scanned the walls as he moved, reading what he could, and simply wondering about the context of the ones he couldn't. Some of the text was just too overwritten by others to be legible and some were written in forgotten languages most translators are no longer updated for.

There were a number of messages from parents to their children. He made a point to avoid those.

“ _I want to retire there someday,”_ he recalled Tarquin telling him about Practis years ago. _“I bet the people there would appreciate someone with culinary skills.”_

Then his eyes fell on one quote, in particular, located directly across the room from where he was sitting. It was scratched, perfectly centered, in the wall.

_**While seeking revenge, dig two graves - one for yourself.** _

“They're here,” Naash informed, stepping into the room from his post outside the door.

“Thank you,” he replied as Victus returned to the head of the table, arms folded behind his back and waited.

After several minutes, the Primarchs began to file in with their respective bodyguards. Primarch Hadriana Nyx of Edessan was the first to enter. Victus had never met her in the flesh but he quickly learned that her holographic form was an injustice to her beauty. She moved with a light gracefulness that rivaled Attilia's and her posture was poised and perfect. Light scars crisscrossed portions of her neck and face, hinting at a more exciting career before her political one and some, he noticed, looked fairly new. She moved to the chair closest to him and thought nothing of reaching for Victus' shoulder; a confident gesture and, admittedly, a little forward for having just met him in person.

Victus found himself impressed.

“Primarch Victus,” she purred, not bothering to hide her lovely Edessan accent. Victus had to remind himself that it wouldn't due to pursue a fellow world leader. That was made harder when she pulled her delicate mandibles into a serene smile. “It's wonderful to meet you in the flesh.”

_'Down, boy.'_

“The pleasure is mine, Primarch Nyx,” he replied, breaking away from her hold to draw her chair out for her.

“Good to see you in one piece,” quipped Primarch Caeltus Octaso of Baetika when he moved into the room. The Baetika Primarch was the oldest of them all, having a good eleven years on Victus, and sported the longest reign as Primarch of his colony. The war had put a strain on him, as it did for them all, but he still held himself with a certain ruggedness in his aged appearance. A trail of smoke streamed from the cigar clamped in the gaps of his maw as he maneuvered around the table to take the seat located at the other side of Victus, across from Primarch Nyx. “We all heard about your run-in with that assassin.”

Victus grinned and said, “I was flattered, really, that someone thought me that much of a threat to them.”

The grizzled Primarch chuckled dryly. “Good man. I myself look forward to every assassin sent to my door. I like to hope that the next one is more of a challenge than the one before.” He sighed and shook his head. “Regrettably, they've been in short supply these days.”

Next was Primarch Tabris Rumix of Gothis. He was a man of few words, preferring his actions to speak for him. He was a barefaced turian, with long maxilla that curved around the back of his head not unlike Saren Arterius. After Saren's downfall, turians born with that rare genetic trait faced some amount of scrutiny, but Rumix's actions during the war would serve to ease that tension. He was a brilliant tactician, which more than made up for Gothis' relatively small military force.

“Chief Primarch,” he acknowledged with a simple nod before taking his seat.

The procession of the other Primarchs was slow as Naash stopped each of them to check for weapons. Each one, Victus knew, would be packing. To turn the weapons over was more a show of good faith so Victus was not at all surprised to hear a familiar voice snarl from outside the room, “Unhand me, krogan!”

The other Primarchs had already taken seats, their escorts standing at parade rest behind them. Even Louki Fidele had entered the room without a fuss, stopping briefly to nod a curt greeting.

"Victus."

"Fidele."

Plated faces glanced to the open door, some appearing more amused than others.

 _'The man of the hour,'_ Victus thought privately.

“What is the meaning of this? Where is Victus?” Primarch Devius Agoril demanded.

“It's alright, Naash.” Victus spoke calmly from where he sat at the head of the table. His voice rumbled methodically across the room, through the open door. “If Primarch Agoril feels the need to remain armed, I will allow it.” He wrapped the slight in a veil of concern, but he knew it would not have gone unheard. He was correct on that assessment, proven by the affronted look he received when the Invictus Primarch finally entered the room, smoothing the front of his coat as he did so.

“A _krogan_ bodyguard, Victus?” He snapped. “To what further extremes will you take to separate yourself from your people, I wonder.”

Naash leveled a chilly glare at the back of the Invictus Primarch.

Victus calmly spread his hands, palms up, over the surface of the table and said, “I am to be made Councilor, am I not? What better show of good faith can I make to the other races than to employ a krogan and entrust him with my life?”

“A foolish one,” Agoril growled. He then glanced backwards at the said krogan and was met with a big, toothy smile. With one last sneer, Agoril took his seat at the opposite end of the table from Victus. He then nodded to his own bodyguard and the woman turned to leave the room, but Victus spoke up and stopped her.

“That won't be necessary, Primarch.” The bodyguard turned on the spot to exchange a confused look with her diplomat. Then both their eyes rose to meet Victus', a question in their depths.

“Primarch Victus, it is customary to dismiss guards to wait outside during such meetings,” Primarch Nyx politely reminded him. She spoke placidly over the steeple of her fingers. “To better control any sensitive information that may be discussed here.”

“Of course, Primarch,” Victus acknowledged the Edessan Primarch with a curt nod. “But I do not intend to discuss any sensitive topics at this meeting. Unless, any of you have something they wish to bring up?”

The question was laid before the leaders as an offering to take, but when none did, Victus continued.

“Clearly Primarch Agoril is uncomfortable in my presence.” Primarch Agoril clenched his jaw, irritated at being singled out. “However, it wouldn't do for just one of us to keep their guard on hand so I invite all of you to keep them with you.” Victus' eyes flickered to Agoril and pinned him to his seat. “In fact... I _insist_ upon it.” The invitation had suddenly become an order.

A tension rolled through the room like a thick fog in the wake of his voice. The Primarchs exchanged glances between each other and their escorts, but among the circle of turning heads, there was one in the room that had eyes only for Victus and they watched him carefully, suspiciously. Primarch Louki Fidele of Solregit.

Victus locked eyes with his old adversary and a clear, silent message was exchanged between them; he knew the makings of one of Victus' traps when he saw one. After all, who else in that room would know Adrien Victus better than the man who spent years fighting him? Fidele lived with a constant reminder of the consequences for falling in one of General Victus' snares. Their prolonged eye contact must have stirred unpleasant memories in the separatist because Victus heard the prosthetic leg scrape nervously along the floor.

The Chief Primarch broke the tension in the room with a sudden grin and lifted his hand to gesture to the only non-turian in the room. “I, of course, intend to keep mine.”

Victus had to grudgingly give credit where it was due. If the Invictus Primarch was rattled by the sudden change in protocol, he hid it well. He had to remind himself that the man had been playing this game for many years. Far longer than Victus has, but he wouldn't be deterred by that. He had long since proven himself a far more competent tactician. Devius Agoril was comfortable in a political setting, trading barbs and controlling his expressions, but he had no idea who he was dealing with and just how in over his head he was.

Agoril certainly wasn't watching him with a look of steadily growing apprehension the way Fidele was.

Victus continued. “I extend my gratitude to all of you for interrupting your schedules to come all this way. I will endeavor to keep this meeting as brief as I can. I'm sure you all know what this is about.”

“Seems like a lot of song and dance just to tell us that you accept your nomination,” Fidele drawled. His chair squeaked as he reclined comfortably in his seat, but his grinning battleteeth framed a deep-set frown.

Victus offered his old combatant a sardonic smirk _._ “In due time, Fidele. I'll be out of your fringe soon.”

“Does that mean you've selected your replacement?” Primarch Anmia Camtis of Farin II inquired. She was one of four Primarchs elected after the war to replace their fallen predecessor.

Victus nodded. “I have. He's a dutiful man. Lawful. I think most of you will approve.” He regarded the Sundowner Primarch with a frown. “Not you, Fidele. You'll hate him. Possibly more than me.”

Fidele snorted at the comment, but said nothing further.

“Before I accept my nomination there is one matter I wish to discuss with you all.” His amber eyes swept the table, taking in every plated face that met his gaze until they landed on one in particular. Victus stilled in his seat, his eyes focused like a predator and suddenly the withdrawn tension came rolling back into the room again. After several heartbeats, the other Primarchs began to follow the direction of his gaze, all their eyes coming to rest on Agoril.

A feral smile threatened to blossom on Victus' face when the man finally shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He refrained.

“Something I can help you with, Victus?” He sneered from across the room.

Victus would not immediately answer him. Instead, he raised his omni-tool, taking his sweet time as he scrolled slowly through the files. He knew exactly the order in which he'd placed the file he was looking for, but making Agoril wait served two purposes. The first was the anger it would stir in the other turian. The second was nothing more than a demonstration of his dominance. The conversation would begin on _his_ terms.

The seconds ticked by, turning into a full minute. When Victus finally looked up, he was met with several confused faces, one deeply worried one, and one severely enraged one. _'Good.'_

“I should think so,” Victus said simply. “As I'm sure you've all heard, I was recently attacked in my home.” Eyes began to flicker between himself and Agoril, lines immediately being drawn and they served to further stiffen the Invictus Primarch in his seat. “The attack failed, as you can see, but naturally it left me questioning who my attacker might be. By that, I mean, who could have sent a _biotic_ assassin to my door?”

“I understand the man expired before any information could be given,” Primarch Tabris Rumix noted.

“That was the story, yes,” Victus inclined is head to the speaker. “As I intended it to be. The truth is, I spoke with him just before his death and learned all I needed to. Of course, the information taken from his omni-tool was further proof.” Victus sent the sought-after file to the omni-tools of the other Primarchs. As they each raised their devices to read the received file, Victus' eyes found Agoril's as they both waited for them to finish. He watched the rage begin to simmer.

“You suspect me,” he stated. His mandibles fluttered around an oily smile before a chuckle rumbled from his chest and he gestured toward their audience. “Is this to be a trial of my peers then?”

Victus said nothing, allowing his stoic visage, along with his silence, to answer the question for him. Another slight. Agoril's smile melted away.

“Is your ire of me so deep that you would plant evidence against me, Victus? The information on the omni-tool could easily be a forgery and that's assuming it was there at all. And what reason would I have to kill you, _Chief Primarch_?” The title cracked from his mouth like an insult.

Victus recognized the attempt to regain control of the room. He wouldn't allow it.

“You don't approve of my position,” Victus told him simply.

Agoril emitted a viscous bark of laughter.

“Outstanding detective work, Victus. Did you come to that conclusion all on your own?”

“You don't approve because I am the one turian that keeps you in check.” Any signs of his laughter died as Agoril's expression darkened. “I am the one turian that recognizes you for the cancer you are. My death would allow you to grow unchecked, without ever being cut out.”

“This is all a grand show,” Agoril's voice was slow and empty of amusement. “But just because the man was from Invictus is not enough to implicate me.”

A thick silence descended on the room, so absolute that the low drone of the nocturnal insects outside were suddenly deafening. Eyes began to narrow accusingly at Agoril and Victus watched as he realized the gravity of his mistake. His eyes widened considerably.

“Primarch.” Victus' voice shattered the silence like a booming drum. “I don't believe I mentioned where the assassin was from.”

“Nor is it referenced in this file,” Primarch Octaso growled through a puff of cigar smoke.

“Primarch Agoril,” Primarch Nyx spoke sternly from the seat beside Victus. “Is this true?”

“This is ridiculous!” Suddenly defensive, Primarch Agoril lunged to his feet.

“ _Agoril_ ,” Fidele growled his name in a low resonance without ever removing his eyes from Victus; A warning. “ _Sit_. _Down_.”

His warning went unheeded.

“You can't possibly buy this!” He looked around for reinforcements, but found no sympathetic eyes to greet him. Not even his fellow Separatist looked keen to come to his rescue now. Fidele was too busy watching every minute muscle twitch Victus made.

“I believe that makes two counts of high-treason against the Hierarchy,” Victus noted, his predatory eyes burning a hole into Agoril's face.

“This is a farce-”

“One!” His voice boomed, earning a wince from every (turian) bodyguard standing along the walls. “For calling your soldiers off our common enemy, allowing countless citizens and soldiers to be captured by the reapers. Do you know what was done to them then, Devius? Did you ever actually _face_ the atrocities that were inflicted on them?”

He didn't. Agoril never set foot out of the protection of his floating dreadnought.

“I-” A wildness began to creep into the other Primarch's eyes, not unlike what can be seen in an animal backed into a corner.

_'Good.'_

“I did.” Victus dug his talons into the wooden table. “I _still_ see them. I _still_ hear them. The dead were the lucky ones.”

Turians impaled on long spikes. There mandibles flared wide as they screamed. They screamed and screamed until they eventually stopped and looked at him, upside down from their spiked perch through soulless optics. Then they screamed for blood.

Several Primarchs nodded absently, likely remembering their own haunting experiences.

“Two. For conspiring to assassinate the Chief Primarch.” Victus flashed his sharp teeth in a threatening display, “For just _one_ count of high-treason is death. It's only your ill-deserved status that allowed you to reach a second one.”

He stared serenely into eyes that held nothing but contempt and hatred for him. There was no mistaking how much Agoril wanted him dead in that moment.

Victus pushed on, cocking his head to the side as he said, “Or perhaps your reasoning was not so complex. Maybe it was nothing more than envy that drove you to it.”

“You think I'm envious of a man who has to live the rest of his life, knowing he willingly sent his own son to be slaughtered?” Agoril spat the question like poison in his mouth.

Victus recognized the question as the death throw it was. One last ditch effort to ward off his attacker.

It wouldn't work. If anything, it merely stirred the subdued Father within Victus. However, the indomitable Primarch smiled as he smothered the Father's whimpers under a clawed hand.

The Chief Primarch allowed himself to bask comfortably in the resulting silence, shrouding himself in it like armor. Like a weapon. His amber eyes bore, unfaltering, into his foe's face and as the silence lengthened he began to see the first signs of regret crack through the visage of defiance.

Then the regret gave way to fear when Victus unhurriedly stood from his seat. He folded his arms behind his back and began a slow, purposeful journey around the table. His eyes never broke from the other Primarch's face, even after the latter finally looked away.

Step.

He could smell the fear.

Step.

It thrilled him.

Step.

From the edges of his peripheral vision, he noticed the Invictus bodyguard shift nervously at his approach and her eyes flickered between the two opposing turians. She was obviously uncomfortable with his growing proximity to her charge. Soon, Victus had gotten near enough to see the tiny cracks that marred the lavender tattoos on the other turian's quivering mandibles. She had to feel torn, wanting to protect her diplomat. Her choice would be clear if the threat wasn't the Chief Primarch himself. Yet, as it was...

Naash stepped closer to her.

“No,” Victus replied once his feet brought him within arms reach of Agoril. “Your envy is born from your weakness. You've been in power far longer than I have, Agoril, and yet you've achieved almost nothing except to prove your own frailty as a leader. I know it. This room knows it. Your people know it... _You_ know it.”

Victus was very aware of his immediate proximity to Agoril's sidearm, but the finger that twitched for it was closer still.

“In the names of all those who have suffered due to your ineffectiveness as a leader, sentencing you will be my last order as Chief Primarch. So I ask, before this trial of your peers, do you have anything to say in your defense?” Victus finally asked.

“Go _fuck_ yourself, Victus,” He breathed.

“ _Wait_. _Don't!_ ” Came the second warning from Primarch Fidele, sounding far more alarmed than his last, but it came too late.

Victus could do nothing except watch as Agoril's long fingers snapped to the handle of his gun and raise the barrel to Victus' chest with full intent to kill.

The trap was sprung and a gunshot cracked the air.

Victus didn't even flinch when Agoril's brains erupted from the side of his head, splattering the table with inky gore and shredded gray matter.

Fidele was the only Primarch, bar Victus, that didn't noticeably recoil at the sight. Instead, he slowly closed his eyes and tipped his chin down and away from the mess in a resemblance of silent dismay. Reluctant acceptance.

Within the same second, Agoril's knees buckled and his lifeless body slumped to the floor, his eyes fixed in a permanent state of surprise. Blue blood already began to pool from the gaping crevice that was his head. In the next instant, the guard he had brought with him moved, her instinct making up for her indecision, but she made the one mistake one should never make when standing next to a krogan; She allowed herself to be grabbed. A shriek pierced the air in the wake of a sickening crunch as plate and bone were crushed beneath the unyielding krogan grip on the woman's arm. Her weapon clattered to the ground just as Attilia's tactical cloak shimmered and deactivated, revealing her presence just behind the spot the Invictus Primarch had been standing a second prior.

Attilia holstered her gun, still smoking from its discharge, and replaced it with a piece of cloth she had retrieved from her pocket. She handed it to her Primarch, which he proceeded to use, calmly wiping away the gore that had spattered his face as if it were nothing but flecks of thrown mud. The front of his suit was a lost cause, however.

Primarch Nyx was the first to recover from the display. “Primarch Victus,” she breathed. “It's no secret that none of us held any love for Agoril but this...”

“This could ignite a civil war,” Primarch Camtis chimed in with urgency.

Victus laid the sullied cloth on the table and met their gazes. He kept his unarmed hands visible, which was all the action he needed to take as he watched the room react at his whim.

“How?” Primarch Rumix looked to Victus' hands. “He's unarmed.”

“He was _goaded_ ," insisted Primarch Camtis.

“He made his choice,” rumbled Primarch Octaso. “As every person in this room saw.” His eyes swept the wall, looking past the Primarchs around the table to the bodyguards that stood silently behind them.

"If Primarch Agoril _was_ behind the assassin, why would he come here and allow himself to be cornered?” Camtis asked.

“Because he thought the Chief Primarch didn't know," Primarch Nyx informed them. Her sub-harmonics resonated with experience and perhaps a small amount of... admiration. "No one knew and refusing to show his face would do nothing but draw suspicion onto him."

"And it was a Black Watch agent that pulled the trigger. To protect him,” Primarch Octaso added. His eyes looked briefly to Attilia before they landed on Victus. “You planned this. All of it.”

“Of _course_ he did.” Primarch Fidele pinched the bridge of his nose, his voiced left him in a breath of frustration.

The room was his and Victus felt completely at ease as he played it like a well-tuned instrument.

“My replacement is one, Castis Vakarian. You will have the privilege of meeting him soon over holo-comm,” Victus declared. He spared the fallen Primarch at his feet one last look. “I will leave the decision on his replacement in your capable hands, Primarchs.”

Victus turned away from them to finally direct his attention to the whimpering Invictus escort. She was clutching her mangled arm and only looked away from it long enough to shoot a withering look at him. “I apologize for your arm,” he told her. “I'll see that you receive medical attention and then you will return to Invictus and inform the advisers of what you witnessed here and that, whoever replaces him, would do well to think twice before raising a weapon to any member of the Hierarchy.”

He regarded the table again. “With that, I hereby renounce my title as Primarch of Palaven and accept your nomination to represent the Hierarchy as Turian Councilor. It has been my honor to work with all of you.”

As Victus turned to leave, his attention was caught by the writing on the wall, just above Agoril's lifeless body _ **.**_ He took a moment to stare pensively at the writing. Then he raised a hand and drew three talon-tipped fingers slowly across the lettering, digging deep into the wood.

~~_**While seeking revenge, dig two graves - one for yourself.** _ ~~

Without a backwards glance, he left the Hierarchy behind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A large source of inspiration for the second half of this chapter came from listening to [The Rains of Castamere.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vU8eL2CjzHw)  
> The quote, "While seeking revenge, dig two graves - one for yourself," is by Douglas Horton. Found it. Liked it. Wanted to use it. :)


	18. Chapter 18

Naash and Attilia followed him outside without comment on what had just transpired. He knew their silence wouldn't last long and he prepared for the onslaught of questions as they boarded the private shuttle back to Cipritine. Victus boarded first with Attilia right behind him. Naash was the last to board and the shuttle groaned under his immense weight as he stepped through the hatch.

“You nearly got yourself killed back there, Victus,” Naash rumbled disapprovingly as he maneuvered his large frame to the seat beside him. “At least _she_ knew what you had planned.”

Victus busied himself with typing in the coordinates for Cipritine. It made for an effective distraction from the cold stare Attilia was leveling at the side of his head.

“ _She_ didn't,” she replied, clearly displeased.

Victus finished his typing far too quickly for his liking. Once the shuttle lifted from the ground, he had no choice but to look his two subordinates in the eye and face their displeasure at his actions. He found Naash looking quickly between himself and the turian woman sitting, arms crossed and frowning, on the bench opposite him.

Then Naash decided to fix his stare on him, eyes narrowing. “Wait... I hope you're not telling me you intentionally put your ass on the line on the _assumption_ that she would step in when you needed her to.”

It was a risk he had to take. There were only three people, other than himself, that knew the whole truth of the attempt on his life. Solana was one because she was the one who rifled through the data on Voltaire's omni-tool to begin with. She would then be his accessory for scrubbing any mention of the Alliance's involvement from the file Victus had forwarded to the other Primarchs. Other than her, it was only Garrus and Castis and that was how Victus wanted to keep it. He stressed as much to Castis on the morning he had gone to visit him.

“ _Think of it as your introduction to political secrets,”_ Victus told him. _“Just wait until all the Hierarchy's dirty laundry comes through to you. I promise, they'll make this one seem hilariously trivial in comparison.”_

If the other Primarchs learned that the System's Alliance had made an attempt on one of their own, they would demand retribution and any hope for sustained peace would be over before it could truly begin. The Alliance would pay for the attack. He would see to that, but it had to be subtle, neutral, and on his terms. He had prepared himself for the possibility that their involvement would be brought up tonight, but mercifully, Agoril had been too riled up, too concerned for his own well-being to think to bring them up.

 _'Or maybe Primarch Agoril understood the implications for revealing his cohorts,”_ his mind, unfortunately, supplied _. 'Maybe he knew he was unlikely to survive, but if the truth died with him, it was preferable to starting another war. Maybe... he had more honor than he was given credit for.'_

Victus vehemently disliked that line of thinking. He'd much rather regard the man he'd just killed as a completely detestable individual. And yet, as he sat there, covered in gore with the smell of blood permeating his nasal cavity, doubt was beginning to sink its cold, unyielding claws into him.

_'Your blood and brain matter would look no different on Agoril's suit.'_

He needed a drink.

“It was no assumption.” Victus leaned forward on the bench to stare intently into Attilia's reproachful eyes. “I knew you would step in.”

“What if I wasn't in the room?” She shot back.

“I knew you were.”

“ _What if I wasn't?_ ” Her voice grew louder and her sub-harmonics trembled with rage. She had never taken a tone like that with him before, not even during the early days of her insubordination.

“Easy, kid,” Naash soothed, which jarred Victus almost enough to look at the krogan. Almost. He felt it more important to keep his eyes on the angry biotic sitting across from him.

“No,” Attilia seethed, her sharp teeth now on full display. Without removing her eyes from Victus, she said, “He could have been _killed_. What if I wasn't in the room and Naash wasn't close enough to stop his bodyguard when he did?”

“Then I'd be dead.” She winced at his words and looked at him with something akin to hurt. “Attilia, I could have died a hundred times over on all the missions we've been on. This isn't any different.”

“It is,” she insisted. Her mandibles pinched her jaw and she had suddenly lost the ability to look at him.

“How?”

She offered no answer, but he knew. Those were the days before her biotics flared up, before he took a more personal interest in her life. Before she started to see him like a father. She cared deeply for him, which made his next action feel all the more devious, but he felt compelled to ebb her ire.

He reached for her shoulder and pulled her towards him to bring her brow to meet his. It was an act of warmth, of familiarity that wasn't done lightly in turian cultures. It was usually reserved for family and loved ones, which was exactly why he knew it would work against her.

He heard her breath hitch at the contact, but she didn't pull away.

“You saved my life,” he breathed. “Just as I knew you would. I was right to choose you as my watcher all those months ago.”

Her sub-harmonics warbled with emotion at a frequency too low for Naash to hear. Victus' close proximity allowed him to feel the vibrations hitting the inside of his cowl. Then she whispered against his face, “You manipulated them... you manipulated me.”

He pulled away from her then and hated the look of betrayal he found on her face when she met his gaze. He also saw... fear. She was afraid of him now.

He hated himself. He wanted to tell her everything, but he couldn't. The less people that knew the whole truth, the better. Safer.

All he had to offer was, “I'm sorry.” He couldn't help the plea that escaped him through his sub-harmonics. He didn't want to lose her.

“Me too.” She scooted down the bench, away from him, and faced sideways with her back against the bulkhead and her knees tucked up against her chest, feet on the seat. Her arms came up to fold around her shins and she dipped her head to rest her brow on her knee.

He tried not to think of a teenage Tarquin, sitting on the floor, looking dejected after a rough day at school, but it was hard. He had allowed himself to grow too fond of her as she did for him.

There was a side of him that told him to get up and sit beside her, comfort her, but he refrained. Attilia wanted to be close to the Father, but that part of his life was over. She once served the General and, up until tonight, the Primarch, but now all three have been displaced by something new.

The thought occurred to him to ask if she wanted to come with him to the Citadel, but he wouldn't dare. After spending her childhood on Omega, she preferred solid ground under her feet. She fell in love with Palaven's woodlands. He couldn't ask her to move back to a space station when he himself didn't want to.

He had to accept that she was another relic of his old life. What place did she have in his current one?

As the shuttle flew off into the night, the distance between them was answer enough.

 

* * *

 

Victus snapped awake in his bed sometime later. Something had woken him, but he wasn't immediately sure what it was until his omni-tool flashed obnoxiously on his wrist. Someone was trying to contact him. He raised it and identified his rude awakener as Garrus. Mercifully, he left no messages so Victus lowered his omni-tool, resigned to call him later, and laid back down.

He had someone in his bed he was far more interested in.

He rolled onto his side and reached out into the dark to lay his hand along the sleeping form of Primarch Hadriana Nyx. She had messaged him only two hours after the meeting, asking if he wanted to meet. Practis was only an hour flight from Cipritine so he had already arrived at his apartment, but was too wound up to make any attempt at sleep.

He had only just accepted his new position as Councilor and his mind felt more weighed down by his choices than ever. The weight became almost crushing when he would recall the way Attilia had looked at him. He remembered their discussion on Earth, when she explained to him why his men were so loyal to him; because he saw them more than _“faceless pawns on a battlefield.”_ Yet, as soon as it suited his political needs, that was exactly what she became to him. He knew her loyalty to him was so absolute that she would move behind Agoril and her gun would leave its holster the second she sensed hostility towards him. As he provoked Agoril and placed himself in harm's way, there was no doubt in his mind where Attilia was and that she would kill anyone before they could touch him. Even if the aggressor was another Primarch.

A darker part of him had to admit that the guilt wasn't the only thing that had him pacing his apartment instead of sleeping.

The sight of his enemy's head, splattering just inches from him, replayed in his mind over and over again. He felt no remorse for his death, but it did illicit a certain amount of... restlessness in him. It stirred a beast that wanted to escape; to hit someone... or fuck them.

Was it a political ploy to get in good with the new turian Councilor? ' _Maybe_.'

Should he be slightly more concerned that she was willing to sleep with a man that had just killed one of the other Primarchs right in front of her? ' _Probably_.'

Yet, all the stress he had been under, the pressure on his mind, left Victus far too weak to resist her when she purred her invite against his neck. Besides, he wasn't Primarch of Palaven anymore, which left his sex-hazed mind incapable of seeing the harm in it.

As he ran a hand down her slender waist, fingers dancing over the sensitive hide between her plates, he held no regrets. He genuinely enjoyed her company. He got a taste of her true nature when they had to communicate with each other during the war, coordinating their strike teams and sending supplies where they were most needed. She was an inspiring leader, intelligent and assertive.

When she walked into his apartment mere hours ago, the first thing he noticed was the way she carried herself, ever poised and confident. He recognized the concealed sidearm at her waist as she entered and by the way her sharp gaze lingered on his hip, she noticed his as well. Neither of them cared as they disarmed each other whilst in the process of ripping the clothes off the other. When she bit down on the front of his cowl he remembered thinking, _'she must be under a lot of stress too.'_ Then she ran the pad of her finger along the seam of his pelvic plates and he stopped thinking at all.

Later he would learn they had quite a bit in common, including secrets. Not that she indulged him in any of her own, but he recognized the way she danced around certain questions as he did with her. That left him with an odd sense of comfort, knowing she understood the burden of confidentiality that tends to come with leadership.

She also understood the loss of loved ones. She had no children of her own, but she had two nieces she still hadn't learned the fates of.

"Vetra and Sidera," she began, after a deep intake of breath. "They were unfortunate enough to be born to a woman that would have made a tesenter look friendly. We all tried to convince my idiot brother that she was only using his ties to our family name to promote her own rise in the meritocracy. Instead he ran off to Palaven with her. She was... reluctant to allow our side of the family to meet their daughters.” She paused to roll onto her back, eyes trained on the ceiling. He watched her mandibles twitch into a sad smile. “I was only able to meet Vetra once. She was still covered in down, but I could tell how beautiful she was, even then. Sidera too, from the pictures I saw of her.”

Her smile vanished then and her sub-harmonics picked up a somber note. "Eventually he wised up. He took his girls and left. Unfortunately, he did so without a word to anyone.”

“Do you know where he went?”

She answered his question with a solemn shake of her head. “I don't think he's alive anymore and that was before the invasion.”

"And your nieces?" Adrien prompted gently. He reached out to brush his thumb along the path of her purple tattoos.

"Every now and again I got reports of a turian matching Vetra's description turning up here and there, but that girl was illusive. With my brother gone, she had to be raising her sister alone. I tried to reach out to her, but... I don't think she was interested in letting anyone else near her and Sidera. I don't blame her. She didn't know me.” She turned her face to look at him then. “Neither she nor Sidera have turned up again since the reapers.”

Determined to direct the subject to quieter waters, Victus shifted his eyes to an old scar that ran along her throat. It looked suspiciously like someone drew an omni-blade along her windpipe years ago. He bent his head to run his tongue along the length of it. “I believe versatility is a trait that's passed along in the family. I'm sure your nieces are fine.”

She moved quickly to straddle his hips and pin him to the bed. “What is it you think you know about my versatility?” She asked, maxilla pulled into an amused smirk.

Adrien said nothing in response. Instead, he gripped her hips and ground her pelvic plates against his.

His vocals vibrated at the memory. He shifted closer to her back so he could indulge his urge to bite down gently on the back of her cowl. The number of scars she possessed rivaled his own and as his talons continued their slow journey down her body, they would occasionally hook lightly on the upraised flesh between her plates. Each hitch was a small reminder of the origin stories she had shared about them in between their bouts of fucking. She began to purr softly in her sleep at the contact and she pressed herself against his groin. Encouraged, he growled both a question and a demand as he slid his fingers over her hip and down toward her pelvic plates. He felt his own plates began to loosen at the thought that he could probably get her open with a single stroke of his talon-

A bright orange glow illuminated her pelvis, lit suddenly by his omni-tool and he snarled his frustration at the interruption.

Vibrations thrummed through his teeth, still clamped to her cowl, as a result of her sleepy chuckle. She then turned her head to peer up at him with those lovely lilac eyes as he reluctantly withdrew his hand.

 **I'm outside your door. Open up,** read the most unwelcome message he'd ever received from Garrus.

The thought of ignoring the message did occur to him, but he quickly dismissed it.

“I'll be right back,” he rumbled at the back of her neck, fully aware of what the vibrations of his voice did to her.

He released her cowl and turned over to crawl carefully out of his bed, trudge down the hall, and storm through the living room to the door, punching the code in as he went. The further he got from that bedroom, the more his patience dwindled. By the time he reached the door, opened it, and laid eyes on the source of his cock block, he was powerless to rein in his frustration.

“ _What!_ ” Victus snapped.

Garrus jumped, surprised by the sudden voice that cracked the silence he'd been standing in. His omni-tool was raised on his wrist, which was a sign that he had been occupied with it prior to the door opening. Probably in the process of sending Victus another irritating message. Once Garrus recovered from his startle, he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a single word out, he took one look at Victus' state of undress and recoiled. His eyes scrunched shut and he craned his neck away, even raising a defensive hand as if to ward off the naked turian before him.

“ _Ah- spirits_ ,” he groaned. “Who answers the door naked?”

Victus didn't need to ask for the details of his visit.

“The closest meeting I could schedule with the Alliance is two days from now, Vakarian. I need you to be patient.”

“Where have you _been_?” Garrus demanded.

“I've been here. Do you have any idea what time it is?” Victus countered.

“Yeah. _Noon_.”

Apparently, it was much later than Victus thought. How long had he been sequestered in his apartment?

Reading his confusion, Garrus fixed him with a disapproving frown. "You don't even know how much time has past since the meeting, do you?"

 _'No,'_ he thought privately.

"I was... distracted."

"You don't say." Garrus squinted at him. "It's been over a day."

Then Hadriana would have to leave soon. She was scheduled to depart at 0500. The thought made him frown.

“What have you been doing?” The question snapped Adrien's thoughts from the woman in his bed and brought his attention to the scrutinizing stare Garrus was leveling him with.

Victus opened his mouth to tell him exactly what he had been doing the last (' _Apparently'_ ) thirty-two hours, but after a second of thought, he closed it. He figured the last thing Garrus wanted to hear was him getting handcuffed to a wall... or about him biting down on the back of the Primarch of Edessan's cowl whilst he fucked her from behind.

“You know what, forget I asked. We have work to do,” he said impatiently before inviting himself in, slipping past Adrien. He turned to slowly follow Garrus into the kitchen, trying not to curse his name. He was also trying not to think of all the time he was wasting, that he could be spending plates deep in the woman down the hall before she had to leave. That was the more difficult endeavor. Oblivious to, or perhaps because of, Adrien's irritation Garrus made himself at home, foraging through the kitchen cabinets for ration bars before settling himself at the table. Adrien hadn't made it two steps into the kitchen before he launched into his tirade.

“So according to Naash, the Primarch of Invictus was executed and you were made Councilor in the same night.” Adrien blinked blearily at Garrus. He did his best to will away all the thoughts of bodily harm he wanted to commit on the younger turian. “You mentioned something about things ' _going south_ ' at this meeting. Was it that?”

“Yes,” he sluggishly admitted, as his feet carried him into the kitchen. He bypassed the table, plotting a direct course for the kava pot. A pregnant silence fell on the kitchen's occupants while Adrien went through the motions of setting up the kava pot. His eyes never strayed from the black liquid that began dripping down into the glass cup when he finally told him, “it worked out fine.”

He felt Garrus' eyes burning into the back of his head, waiting for him to elaborate further, but he was too tired and too irritated to accommodate him.

“Primarch Agoril needed to be removed. So I removed him while I still could. Then I accepted my position as Councilor. That's the long and short of it.”

Garrus waited while Adrien poured himself a mug and turned toward the table. “I'm good.” Garrus waved his hand dismissively, thinking the extra water Adrien poured into the brewer was for him.

The chair creaked when Adrien settled himself onto it and spared Garrus a withering look before he brought the steaming mug to his mouth. “Is that why you're here, Vakarian?” He could tell he was curious and more than a little tempted to berate him with further questions about the meeting, but something more pressing was on Garrus' mind.

The other turian raised his omni-tool and said, “No. I'm here to show you this. Thought you'd like to know that a few hours after your acceptance went public, the other Council races put forth their nominees.”

That was definitely news to him. He wasn't sure if he should feel concerned that he allowed his time with Hadriana to put him on a thirty-two hour information blackout or relieved.

“They did?”

Garrus nodded, but the anxious look in his eyes insinuated he had more to say. Rather than verbally elaborate, Garrus decided to answer by sending a file to Victus' omni-tool. Once Adrien opened it, Garrus said, “well, they tried to anyway. The human nominee was accepted right away, but the salarians and the asari...” He trailed off as he pulled up a news vid and hit play.

“ _With subdued urgency,”_ the elcor news caster slowly droned. _“Galactic protests have broken out on colony worlds everywhere. Rhetoric question; But for what? Serious explanation; moments after the salarian and asari governments put forth their nominee, protesters of various races took to the streets in opposition. I am joined by two protesters.”_

The floating camera panned down from the high point of the elcor's face down to a female turian.

“ _With genuine interest; why are you out here?”_ The large reporter asked.

“ _For justice!”_ The turian woman declared _. “The salarians and asari revealed themselves as the traitors they are during the war! They refused to commit their forces while my turian brothers and sisters, the humans, the krogan, were slaughtered like animals while trying to help each other! They couldn't be bothered though! They were too busy withholding their own troops, information, and breaking galactic laws_ they _put forward. Now they want to continue to have a say over our lives? We say hell no!”_

Garrus stopped the news vid and his fingers went to work on pulling up a different one. His eyes were glued to the orange interface of his omni-tool so he missed the satisfied smirk that Victus allowed to show on his face. As the younger turian scrolled, he told him, “The pick for the new Human Councilor is very interesting. Shepard and I met with her twice before. She's-”

Garrus' report was abruptly cut off by a soft, duel-toned moan that emitted from the direction of Adrien's bedroom. The only reason the two of them heard it at all was because the second set of vocal cords carried the content sound into the room on a subtle wave of vibrations. Adrien's mind immediately supplied him with a mouth-watering image of the primarch stretching her lithe, naked body out across his sheets.

“You-uh... have company?”

“Mmm... Adrien?” Called the voice as if to answer the question. Garrus suddenly looked very uncomfortable in his seat.

“In the kitchen,” Adrien called. “I made kava.”

Soft footfalls came padding down the hallway until the very lovely... and very naked figure appeared in the entrance behind Garrus' seat. Her eyes flickered uncertainly between himself and the back of Garrus' head. Adrien answered her silent question with a smile and tilted his head toward the kava that sat waiting for her.

“Friend of yours, Adrien?” She asked as she strolled confidently into the kitchen. That's when Garrus looked up and saw her for the first time. He wasn't sure if Garrus recognized who she was, but his mandibles fluttered with his embarrassment and he quickly adverted his eyes. Adrien, on the other hand, never removed his eyes from her as she strolled past Garrus' chair to his side. That's when he realized there wasn't a third chair at the table so he moved to offer his seat to her, but she declined with a wave of her hand. _'What those hands could do.'_ She stepped behind his seat and slid her arms into his cowl to coil them loosely around his neck. He could feel her gaze on Garrus as she stared at him unabashedly. “He's cute. Think he'd be interested in joining us?”

He had spent enough time with Hadriana to know when she was joking, but because messing with Garrus had become somewhat of a favorite pastime of his, he fixed him with an eager, agreeable look. He had never seen Garrus look more awkward than he did in that moment. It even beat his reaction to Adrien's first contact war sex joke.

“No, I'm- I'm good.” He stuttered. “Uh- Thanks.”

Adrien almost allowed a bark of laughter to slip.

“You sure, Vakarian?” Adrien offered with a feral smile. “You do look stressed. It's been a year for you, hasn't it?”

That earned him a glare from the young turian.

“Wait... Garrus Vakarian.” The scars and Cipritine markings were well-known in the galaxy. He heard the smile in Hadriana's voice when she said, “It's very nice to meet you. I've heard so much, of course.”

His glare faltered and he seemed to find something fascinating about the surface of the table. “You too. I mean- it's nice to meet you too... Primarch Nyx.”

So he did recognize her.

“I'm not exactly wearing my Primarch pin,” she pointed.

 _'Or anything at all,'_ Adrien thought to himself, loving the discomfort on Garrus' face as he tried to look everywhere else but her. He loved it almost as much as the feeling of her waist pressed sinfully against his back.

“Hadriana is fine.”

“Me too- I mean, Garrus. Garrus is fine.”

Adrien decided to finally take pity on poor Garrus. He swooped to his rescue by turning the conversation to the task at hand. He raised his omni-tool so Hadriana could read it over his shoulder. “They tried to elect the other members of the council,” Victus informed her. “ _Try_ , being the operative word.”

Like a switch was thrown, Hadriana ceased to be while Primarch Nyx stepped in. Her arms, regrettably, fell away from his neck as she read the file with keen interest. They swept through article after article saying more of the same. They found more pictures of the protesters, seeing people holding signs saying, **I'll take a krogan Councilor over a salarian one!**

Some signs were more tasteful and diplomatic than others. Some were downright disparaging. Many had unflattering pictures of asari dancing on tables or hanging from poles alongside images of elcor with cannons mounted on their backs, charging an army of husks, or a drell protecting a hanar. Below such images were messages like, **Only one gets a vote on galactic affairs. Can you guess who?**

“This is just what the galaxy needs right now,” Garrus muttered darkly. “It's as if all the work Shepard put in to uniting the races was for nothing.”

“They're still united,” Primarch Nyx replied as her eyes brushed over a sign that read, **It's time for a volus Councilor!** “Just against different targets."

Upon further reading, Adrien was not surprised to learn that, before the protests broke out, Irissa Asteria was officially named the new Asari Councilor. He wondered if she was still angry with him after that night on Earth. She certainly would be if she knew the truth as to how these protests to her power came to be. A spiteful part of him mused at the expression she might be wearing right now.

“Watch her.” Adrien caught the cold tone Primarch Nyx used and he glanced up at her. Even Garrus set his discomfort aside to meet her gaze, but she was looking at Victus.

“I've had my dealings with her on Earth,” Adrien explained. “She and dalatrass Linron were an ever-present thorn in my ass.”

Primarch Nyx snorted. “Mine too. She seems to make a habit out of inhibiting turians.”

“I presume you've met her?” Victus asked.

“I slept with her once, years ago.” She shrugged, but quickly added, “for information. It was a 'I'll scratch your back, you scratch mine,' deal. I knew she was a spectre. She didn't know I was the primarch. Turns out a pair of colored contact lenses and scouring my colony markings is all it takes for me to pass as nothing more than a well-informed intern.”

If there were any doubts about her colorful career before her political one, they had just been put to rest.

“This is a setback for her, yes, but she's always been ambitious. She's had her eye on that council seat for centuries and she won't let a couple protesters stop her from taking what she deems is rightfully hers,” Nyx explained.

As for the salarians, he expected them to put forth Linron or one of the other dalatrasses, and they initially did. Yet, unlike the asari, they tried to posit a different solution in light of the protests. Instead of more of the same, which the people would get in the form of the incipient nomination of Dalatrass Esheel, they elected to put forth an ex STG scientist named, Padok Wiks. While he was still what salarians would consider 'well bred' he certainly seemed more progressive, based on his stance of uplifting races. He was raised by a high-ranking family, his dalatrass being-

“Ah.” Victus considered the text pensively. “He's a descendant of Dalatrass Linron.”

Garrus nodded. “I wonder if the protests were really what kept her from accepting the job or if she just felt too old. Mordin was forty and he was ancient. The dalatrass has to be... older... than...” Garrus trailed off once he registered that he was being glowered at by the two over-forty turians standing in the room with him.

“Old for a salarian!” He defended. He then moodily grumbled something about over sensitivity and turned his eyes down to continue reading from his omni-tool. After a moment he went on with, “He's her... great, great grandson. I take it that means she can still have her hands on the position in some way.”

“Councilor Valern was her cousin,” Primarch Nyx casually informed from across the kitchen. She had left the table to pour herself a cup of kava. “And before him, was an ascendant to both of them. Esheel is her sister. It's consistent that they would endeavor to keep the title in the family.” Nyx met Victus' eyes and told them, “That's how salarian culture works. Their pool of heirs to choose from is likely drained from the invasion. This Padok Wiks was probably the best option they had to answer the protests.”

A sliver of the Hadriana he'd come to know slipped past the Primarch mask when a mandible flicked into a sly smile and her eyes lit with the mischief of her younger years. “It looks like you and I distracted ourselves a little too much.”

He couldn't help returning the smile. “So it would seem.”

Garrus cleared his throat uncomfortably. “As I was saying, Shepard and I had a couple run-ins with the new human Councilor, Gianna Parasini. She worked at Noveria. Internal affairs. She asked Shepard to get her evidence on a salarian named, Anoleis to prove _he_ was the corrupt one and not a turian named... I think it was Qui'in?”

“Lorik Qui'in,” Hadriana instantly told him as she moved back to the table. She smiled, perhaps at a private memory, and shook her head. “White colony markings? He was always fond of using, and unintentionally butchering, human idioms?”

Garrus squinted at Nyx, his embarrassment forgotten. “You know _him_ too?”

She met his stare with a cool gaze. “Information is power, Vakarian. It helps to make friends in all places. Sometimes even with those a part of corrupted businesses. I understand that he was the ultimate benefactor of that arrangement?”

“Yeah. Shepard-”

"-Chose to give the information to him,” she cut in. “Which was how he became Administrator of Port Hanshan. He became... very informative after that.”

There was something to her tone that left Victus feeling bothered. Not just sexually. She knew something about the man that none of them did.

Also sexually. If Garrus wasn't sitting right there...

Hadriana sighed as she checked the time on her omni-tool. “My flight leaves in a few hours, but I think it's best that I arrange a sooner one. I have a feeling that I have some damage control to conduct when I get home.” She lifted her eyes from the device and smiled softly at Adrien. “Mind if I use your shower?”

He wasn't ready for her to wash the scent of him off of her, but regardless he nodded. “Of course.”

“Should I... wait?” She asked with a suggestive lilt to her tone.

“Give me ten minutes.” He was at her mercy, absorbed in her smile, and when she turned to leave, his eyes glued to her waist until she sashayed out of sight. The things he would do to her in that shower.

“You know she's using you, right?” The question snapped through his reverie and brought his attention back to the scowling turian sitting across from him.

“Absolutely,” he answered truthfully.

Garrus waited for him to elaborate as to why he, knowing he was being used, would allow it. When the silence stretched beyond Garrus' patience he gave Victus an incredulous look.

“You know... and you don't care,” Garrus stated.

Did he not see that waist?

“Correct.”

“You don't think that's a bit... I don't know... _stupid?_ ”

“We all have our weaknesses, Vakarian. Besides, she can only get so much out of me when I know I'm being used.”

Garrus didn't look convinced. “I know you can't bond to her, but what if... you know... you get her pregnant or something?”

Victus shot him a dry look before answering. “If you must know, I had a vasectomy years ago.” After a pause he added, _"Dad_."

Garrus' discomfort returned in full force. His mandibles flared bashfully and his eyes sought solace on the table's surface. After a moment of awkward silence he concluded with, “On the ever-growing list of things-I-didn't-need-to-know-about-you, that one went right to the top. Look just... be careful. That's all I'm saying. I saw plenty of politicians on the Citadel get torn down because of shit like this. I would... hate for that to happen to you.”

Victus spared his friend a tender smile, touched by his admission. “Thank you, Garrus. I'll be careful.”

Determined to not allow another awkward silence to fall upon them, Garrus turned around in his chair to stare at the walls separating the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. Victus deduced that he was using his visor to scan for signs of Hadriana listening. Satisfied with their privacy, Garrus returned his attention to Adrien and quietly asked, “Tell me how this impacts our situation.”

Adrien knew what 'situation' he was referring to. “A good question,” he acknowledged. “Truthfully, my plan to get Shepard back did not originally involve other council members, but I knew I wouldn't be the only Councilor for long and the Alliance will demand a voice on their behalf.”

Victus watched as cold comprehension began to creep across Garrus' features. He looked at Victus with growing shock.

“This... was you,” he said slowly. “You started the protests.”

Victus replied with a languid nod. He couldn't tell if Garrus was angry with him or not. He doubted Garrus really knew the answer to that himself.

“I merely sparked the fuel that was already there. ” Victus paused to calmly sip from his cup. “All that was required was a few million messages and posts on boards. All of which were sent from an anonymous IP. The people drew their own conclusions and took it from there.”

“Solana,” Garrus concluded, unsmiling.

Victus affirmed his answer with another nod. “I gave her the order minutes before I met with the other Primarchs to insure they would be none the wiser. I... suspect it was the first time she had to follow an order she didn't like. Technically, I was still the Primarch so she didn't have a choice on the matter.”

Garrus said nothing while the seconds ticked by. Victus met his cold, unyielding stare and could only watch disdain bleed into the blue depths like black oil in a glass of water.

Outrage.

“I hope you know what you're doing, Victus, because you may have just started a race war and there are a lot of innocent people paying for it right now,” he seethed through clenched teeth.

That bit of information was not lost on Victus. He took another sip from his cup, using the subtle gesture as way to calmly map out his words. “An unfortunate necessity in order to further the change this galaxy needs. The asari and the salarians were too powerful for too long. Now that I've removed some of the chrome from their order, the rust starts to show and the other races start to look more appealing.”

“You're talking about our alliance with the humans.”

“Our _crucial_ alliance... yes, but there's more to it than that. We've spoken about the primarch position; how it's been primarily maintaining the status quo until I stepped into it. I intend for my induction as Councilor to be no different.”

“So you neutered the two most powerful council races to that end?”

“In a sense. With their influence drowned out, other races have a shot at having their voices heard and not just us and the humans. Drell, elcor, hanar, volus, quarians, even krogan... they all deserve a say in their fates and they didn't get that with the way matters were handled before.”

“The asari and salarian Councilor weren't alone in the opinion that they didn't deserve it,” Garrus growled the reminder.

“Yes, but Sparatus was short sighted and the other politicians before him were much the same. They were groomed for diplomacy, which means appeasing the true power in place before them. On and on that wheel turned like a cog in a well-oiled machine. They never had to adapt to a new plan or take a more unorthodox approach. That happens to be where I shine.” Victus smiled, though he knew Garrus wasn't in a mood to return it. “My objective is to _break_ the machine.”

“By bringing the other races into the council?”

“To get them on my side, yes, which would be significantly more difficult if the asari and salarian Councilor had the sway that they did. Now that they don't...”

“I noticed you didn't include the batarians on that list,” Garrus deadpanned and for the first time since their conversation started, Victus found himself caught off guard.

Recovering quickly, he countered darkly with, “and I don't intend to.”

“You might not have a choice.”

“True enough,” he acknowledged. Victus was internally bristling at the direction the conversation was going so he endeavored to seize control again.“This assures me allies, Garrus, which I'll be requiring when I demand the return of Commander Shepard.” Predictably, he caught a flicker of sympathy on Garrus' face at the mention of her name.

“And you think that by pushing to get the other races in, you'll automatically win their support,” he stated.

“That's the goal. With two Councilors removed, that just leaves one other power; the human Councilor, which frankly, I'm more worried about. She could be sympathetic to the Alliance and it doesn't sound like she and the commander have the happiest history together.”

Garrus looked thoughtful as he considered his concerns, but after several seconds, a slight smile began to grow on his face. “Not at first, no, but they more or less patched things up when we bumped into her for the second time, on Illium. Shepard helped her bust a smuggler that had stolen schematics from Noveria and Parasini repaid her by buying Shepard a beer and the two talked things out.”

Victus found a small amount of reassurance in that bit of information. Perhaps she would be easier to sway to his side than he initially thought. Garrus seemed to agree as something akin to true hope began to shine in his blue eyes. Behind that hope was a smile, a grateful one, and Victus felt his own grin slide off his face in the same moment.

Not two minutes ago, he was on the receiving end of a withering look of disdain and that was what bothered him the most. Without realizing what he was doing, he had manipulated the anger out of Garrus.

Victus was often touted as the hero Palaven needed, but it couldn't be further from the truth. The man sitting across from him, along with his little human, were the true heroes. Garrus deserved better than a exploitative politician to call friend.

Just as Tarquin deserved a better father.

“Don't worry, Garrus. I'll get your human back." Just as they had discussed before, Victus was well aware of Garrus' true loyalties. They were to him, but only to a certain, red-headed human, point. Steeling himself, Victus looked him in the eye and continued with, "She's too valuable a commodity to leave with the Alliance.”

Garrus' smile melted away, causing Victus' heart to clench painfully in his chest at the swiftness of its departure. He didn't allow it to reflect on his own face, however.

“A... commodity?” Garrus echoed, subharmonics vibrating with renewed anger and disbelief.

The Councilor calmly sipped from his cup, using the action to take up time in answering. Only after the cup reacquainted with the surface of the table, he said, “we've talked about this before, Garrus. She may be your bondmate, but this is bigger than her. Yes. She's valuable. To myself and to the council as a whole.” He paused to allow the quiet to cling to them, chilling their bones.

_'One more push.'_

“And as a council Spectre,” he drawled. “I trust that you'll remember that when I give you the order to retrieve her. You will bring her to me.”

The quiet stretched between them, but Victus waited. He knew Garrus had to be the one to break it. Finally, through flared mandibles, he asked, “What do you want with her?”

Victus opened his mouth, ready to answer, but Garrus cut him off. Now he was enraged.

“After everything she's been through, everything she's done, what more could you _possibly_ want from her?” The volume of his voice grew with the length of his sentence. He no longer seemed to care that he was within hearing range of Victus' guest.

“Answers.”

Garrus said nothing more, but the raw look of betrayal he shot Victus punched him deeper than any bullet. He knew it wasn't too late yet to take it back, but he wouldn't. Where he was going, he had no use for friendships. His life was pledged in service to the galactic community now and, as the motto goes, it's service before self. He was a Councilor now and Garrus was his spectre. Garrus had to know he was no longer meeting the gaze of Adrien, his trusted friend. A man he had opened up to and commiserated with. Adrien wasn't that man anymore and they both knew it.

In the place of Garrus' comrade sat a monster, wearing his face.

He kept that thought at the forefront of his brain as Victus said, “Unless you mean to tell me you're unable to keep your emotions out of the equation and treat this mission as any other. If that's the case, I can always send a different Spectre in your place.” He was tempted to take a steadying breath, but refrained before concluding with what he knew would be his point of no return. “It's my understanding that you and the commander have a mutual friend that was made a Spectre during the war. It was... Alenko, as I recall. I could send him in your place, if you'd prefer it.”

Garrus' eyes burned angrily into his own, never straying as he lifted himself from his seat.

“I'll be ready for that call, _Councilor_.” He bit the title out like an insult and turned to leave.

Victus didn't move a muscle to stop him as Garrus stormed out of his life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tesenter:** A dangerous animal on Palaven. _(Cerberus Daily News)_
> 
> This community has been amazing and so welcoming! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I'll have the next chapter up soon. It looks like chapter 20 will be the last one. This fic has become so special to me and, because of that, I've been thinking about commissioning some art for it. So if anyone is interested, or have a recommendation, drop me an email at somewriter01@gmail.com.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Collapses on the keyboard.* So... much... dialogue.

He stepped under the hot water with a heart that felt like lead in his chest. Not even the sight of Hadriana standing naked and beautiful in the steam could lighten it. When she turned to look at him and saw his face, her subharmonics emitted an inquisitive trill. The concern on her face almost looked genuine, but he refused to fool himself with such fancies.

“It got a little heated in there. I... couldn't help overhearing.” Her turian voice thrummed clearly through the loud spattering of water hitting the tiles.

“How much did you hear?” He knew the question was futile. Even if she heard every word of their conversation, it was unlikely she'd divulge that.

She reached up to trace a talon along his mandible. “Enough to know that he was more than just an adviser to you.”

In a moment of weakness, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to pretend that the hand against his face belonged to the dead woman that still held his heart.

“You pushed him away,” she stated.

“I had to,” he answered gloomily.

The moment he saw that hopeful smile appear on Garrus' face, molded by him, did he know that he had to. Spirits, he may have started a race war for his own gains. That _was_ monstrous. Then, without a second thought, he had exploited that which Garrus cared most about in order to abate his anger. His _rightful_ anger. Garrus was the last man that knew his name; who he _was_. In return, he fed Garrus words like poison.

In a last effort against the change occurring within him, Adrien refused to feed him anymore.

With a knowing voice forged by years of experience, he heard Hadriana utter, “I know.”

He opened his eyes, half-expecting to meet a pair of lovely green irises. Instead, he met wise, sympathetic lilac ones. Eyes that knew his pain, understood it because she had undoubtedly done the same at some point. He could easily  pretend that she sincerely cared about him. She would have made a remarkable actress.

When it came time for her to leave, she hesitated before stepping into the hallway. She turned to face him and reached for his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said. “I really needed this.”

“It was my pleasure as well,” he responded. Her mandibles flicked into a smile and he felt her hand shift a fraction of an inch up his neck before pulling away all together. It was almost as if she was... moving to pull his brow down. The hand that had left his shoulder closed into a fist and fell to her side, but she didn't retreat.

“I know you think I'm lying to you,” she told him. “I really do understand... just as you understand me. I could tell you that I'm not using you, but you wouldn't believe me if I did." Her smile turned sad. "And how could you? Such is our lives. We see demons and deception everywhere we look because we have to. Maybe you didn't before, but-” She reached to cup the side of his face. “-You do now. I can see it.”

He didn't have time to think of a response because, in a moment of boldness, she reached for the back of his head. At first he thought she was trying to initiate another round by going for that oh-so sensitive spot on a male turian. Then she pulled his brow down to meet hers in a very intimate way. The kind of way he hadn't done with any other woman since Magrim.

He could feel the vibrations of her subharmonics buzzing against the hide lining his cowl, deafening him and drawing him in. The sensation was nowhere near as effective against him as Magrim's was. No. She had the power to bring him to his knees. No one would ever have that ability over him again, but the feeling he got from Hadriana was still pleasant enough for him to release an unintended breath that gusted against her face. The urge to jerk away was there, but he didn't. Despite himself he returned the gesture by pressing his brow hard against hers and repaid the vocalized massage with deep thrums of his own sub-harmonics.

After several seconds, she pulled away looking slightly dazed and smiled warmly up at him. The hand still clamped under his fringe slid down to reacquaint with his mandible. “There he is. He's still in there.”

She turned away from him and left.

 

* * *

 

The vid-comm he had scheduled with the Alliance was canceled in lieu of his confirmation to meet with his fellow Councilors for the first time. He had initially hoped to meet them in person, but it was ultimately decided that it would be safer to keep the distance between them for the time being. Their positions were still new. Not to mention the backlash that half their group faced in the salarian and asari Councilor.

With some time to kill beforehand, Victus thought to dip into his old office one last time while he had the chance. When he arrived he found the new primarch within. Castis was sitting behind the same desk that had served as Victus' second home for the better half of a year. He looked up from a datapad clutched in his talons as Victus entered.

“Come to take one last look at the old office?” Primarch Vakarian asked. Victus detected no malice in the lines of his body. Perhaps Garrus had not divulged Victus' recently outed misdeeds to his father. No yet, anyway. He mentally filed that away.

Victus snorted as he moved across the office toward Han's empty desk. “I've only held the title for roughly two years and the majority of it was spent off world. It's not really that old, considering it's not the true office of the Primarch. The real one is still under renovations inside the Echelon. Truthfully, I never set foot inside that office. It'll be yours soon though.”

Castis did not miss the note of sadness that escaped him. He demonstrated as much by stating, “You regret that.”

Adrien laid a hand fondly on the surface of Han's desk. The chair behind it was specially designed for his short stature. It lowered to the ground when he needed to stand or sit, and lifted so he could work comfortably at the turian-sized desk. He remembered the day he found the volus sound asleep in that chair after he had spent hours slaving to find answers to Palaven's numerous financial pits.

“Maybe a little,” he acknowledged, turning his eyes to regard the senior Vakarian without taking his hand off the desk. “For a long time, I didn't think I belonged here. I suppose I _wanted_ to believe I didn't belong here, but... the job grew on me. I admit, there's a part of me that wishes to stay.”

“ _Primarch_ Victus does have a nicer ring to it than _Councilor_ Victus.” Victus was surprised at the rare show of humor from the senior Vakarian. He supposed Garrus got it from somewhere. He could certainly hear where Garrus' voice came from.

He chuckled at the ribbing. “Agreed, but Primarch Vakarian doesn't sound bad either.”

“Give it time. I've only just started.”

“I have confidence. You'll have the best behind you. The advisers can be a pain in the ass, but they mean well and every now and again they have a good idea between them.” Victus grinned. “Have you met Han?”

“Yes. He's pleasant enough, but he seems...” Vakarian trailed off, but Victus got his inclination.

“Highly critical?” He supplied.

Castis nodded. “To put it mildly. I noticed that he tends to compare me to you.”

Victus felt his mouth fall open like a shuttle hatch on a loose hinge. His eyes wandered back to the volus' vacated desk in a feeble attempt to hide the surge of emotion that threatened to erupt within him. Spirits, the disdain he held for the man when they first met. Now, staring at his empty chair, Victus had no choice but to acknowledge that the title wasn't the only thing he felt regret leaving behind.

“Funny, he used to compare me to Fedorian.” Victus couldn't remember the last time the volus had done that. When he finally tore his eyes away from the desk to meet Castis' he found that a shadow had past over his eyes. It was then Victus remembered the friendship between the former and current Primarch. He chirped his sympathy, but Castis dismissed it with a shake of his head.

“It's alright. I've come to terms with his loss long ago. Now it's coming to terms with the fact I now hold his title. I have to wonder what he would think of this. It's... a sobering thought.”

“I think he would have preferred you over anyone else. He certainly would have preferred you over me,” Victus answered honestly.

That earned him a subdued laugh from the new Primarch. “Perhaps, but he and I didn't always see eye to eye. He would have preferred me over you and I would have disagreed.” Castis' smile faded and he fixed Victus with serious stare. “I wasn't lying when I said that you were the Primarch Palaven needed.”

Victus smiled, touched at the admission. “Well, Han is a good man with invaluable counsel and he loves Palaven as much as you and I. It's his home too. You're in good hands, Primarch.” Straightening from the desk, he asked, “What is your intent for the remaining reapers on the planet?”

Castis turned back to his computer screen and began to poke around at the touch interface. After a few seconds, a colored hologram of Palaven flickered above his desk. The opaque planet was peppered with hundreds of red dots, marking the location of each downed reaper. It had changed very little from when Victus spent long periods of time studying it. The process of carefully removing each of those colossal machines was a slow, daunting task. “We're still locating the remaining bodies and we'll continue to destroy them as we find them.”

“Good. That will be one of the first galactic laws I'll push for, I think. However, that isn't the sole reason for my visit. May I use your lovely comm chamber, Primarch Vakarian?”

Castis huffed a laugh. Victus suspected that he didn't feel like he owned the said comm chamber. Not yet. With a nod, Castis permitted, “Of course, Councilor.”

 

* * *

 

Before Victus stepped into the comm chamber, he caught Solana's gaze. He could tell, within the first five minutes of entering her office, that she had grown colder towards him since the last order he had given her. She spoke, but only if he initiated the conversation and it wouldn't last longer than the bare minimum needed to answer whatever question he posited.

He understood the guilt she felt. It had been the primarch's order she was following, but it had been her hands to carry it out. He could only wonder how many innocent people in the galaxy had been wronged by that order. By the distant look on her face, she did too. He hoped it was a decision he wouldn't come to regret.

With his permission granted she put the call through with all her firewalls and counter-viruses at the ready should the need arise. While he waited for the signal to cross solar systems to the needed comm bouys, he took the private moment to simply breathe. So much rode on this meeting going his way; his promise to Garrus, the Alliance paying for the attack, establishing allies, and whether or not he could secure himself as a force for the other Councilors to recognize.

It all seemed to culminate to this moment. Soon he would learn if every decision he had made over the last few days was worth the prices paid for them.

Pressuring the Alliance had cost him the desecration of Tarquin's remains.

Killing Agoril had cost him Attilia.

Weakening the salarian and asari Councilor had cost him Garrus.

He didn't have to wait long. One by one, they flickered into existence around him. The first to show was an olive skinned human woman with brown hair and brown eyes. She began watching him immediately with a sharp gaze that lasered into his face. Victus got the inclination that, unlike many humans, she was not hindered by a lack of understanding in turian facial expressions. He would have to be cautious.

The second was the salarian, Padok Wiks. His skin was predominantly green with shades of red, lining his neck and throat. He had donned himself, or perhaps someone put it on him, long black robes that hid his body and obscured his head with only an opening for his face to peer through. He stared at Victus with large, black eyes that shown with curiosity, which betrayed his relatively young age.

Lastly was the asari herself as Irissa Asteria, much to his chagrin, flickered back into his life. She wore an expression that looked as bored and unamused as ever. A slight, as it were. She did not consider him worth her time, but he refused to rise to the bait. Instead, he addressed the closest thing to a neutral party.

“Councilor Wiks,” he greeted the salarian first. “It's very good to meet you.”

The salarian Councilor smiled pleasantly at the greeting. With a subtle waiver of nerves to his tone, he replied with, “and you as well, Councilor Victus.”

Victus' eyes flickered to the human. In the span of a second, he took in her sharp stare and guarded posture and decided that he would attempt to chip that wall down by offering a small amount of concealed knowledge. “And you as well, Councilor Parasini. I understand you've met with my adviser, Garrus Vakarian, on a couple occasions. I've heard nothing but good things.”

A cautious smirk quirked her otherwise stiff lips. “That's good to hear, considering I barely spoke with him.” Cold, clipped and, most regrettably of all, offered nothing. Victus regretted his decision immediately, but he endeavored to recover by saying, “He was a good friend of Commander Shepard's. He mentioned something to me about sharing a beer on Illium-” He did not miss the way her eyes lit up at the memory, “-and how much the Commander appreciated it. At the time, she had very few allies. He said it was one of the few times the Commander smiled.”

The last part was a fabrication, but thankfully she didn't seem to catch on to it.

“Impressive," the human commented. "I appreciate a man who does his research.”

Last of all, his eyes swept to the holographic asari. She was clad in a floor-length, red gown equipped with long sleeves that continued past her wrists to loop around the middle of her strange five digits. She still looked bored, but there was a tenseness in her gaze Victus didn't remember seeing before. If he wagered a guess, it was likely a sign of fatigue and stress as a result of the events over the last few days. He could only hope.

“Long time no see, Victus,” she greeted first. The corner of her mouth quirked into an unfriendly leer. Though, it was a little hard to tell. Victus found himself mildly out of practice when it came to reading expressions around a mouth without mandibles. Well, a non-krogan mouth. Funnily enough, he had plenty of time to learn to read krogan expressions from his time spent with Naash. Considering who he was addressing, he doubted the authenticity of its welcome. “I see you've come a long way since we last met on Earth.”

The double meaning was clear. It was a recognition of his defiance to her demand regarding his accepting the Councilor position. He was tempted not to dignify her response with an answer, and he wouldn't have if she was turian. Since she wasn't, it wouldn't have the desired effect.

He provided only a slight, polite smile and said, “It would seem I have, Councilor. The several months have been quite the learning experience. I'd like to think I've grown from it.”

“Only time will tell,” she quipped.

“Indeed it will.” He took a step towards her.

“To business then.” Her eyes shown as she met his gaze unflinchingly. He had gotten within mere feet from her and he held the matron's stare. Neither one interested in looking away. When last they met, he had been a reluctant participant in the political dance; naive in his plan to return to Palaven and stay there. The connection their eyes made transferred an unmistakable message: He had learned to dance.

“To business then.”

“Which is going to be pretty difficult with people protesting against half of us,” Councilor Parasini interjected. She quickly placed her holographic self between him and Irissa like a referee stepping between two fighters. She glanced between himself and the asari before she said, “I don't know about you two, but I don't need in-fighting exacerbating the problem."

Victus held her gaze for a brief moment before he nodded his agreement.

“You have a solution?” Councilor Wiks asked.

Parasini sighed, which seemed to exhale some of her bravado in the same breath. Her squared shoulders seemed to deflate somewhat.

“No,” she admitted.

“I do,” the asari Councilor chimed in. “We ignore it. They depend on us whether they like it or not and the last thing we should do is show weakness.”

Wiks did not look convinced. “Is it truly weakness to adhere to their concerns? You have to admit they're not completely unwarranted.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” said the human Councilor. “The question is whether that's a bad thing, or not.”

“To show weakness?” The asari Councilor exclaimed incredulously. “Of _course_ it's a bad thing!”

Parasini whirled on the asari. “Where I come from, Councilor, people have a voice and it's the government's job to adhere to that voice. That's why they're there; to pass laws as demanded by the will of the people.”

“Put three humans in a room, there will be six opinions,” Victus quoted the common proverb.

“That's right,” Parasini replied with an mistakable note of pride in her voice. She turned her sharp gaze on him. “Take you, for example.”

_'This should be interesting.'_

“Councilor, humans have been making people like you out as the villain in our vids for centuries.”

“People like me,” Victus echoed. “I wasn't aware I came across as such a malefactor.”

“Not you individually. _You_ as in your old title. A Primarch- one person ruling a _whole_ damn planet. Making decisions _for_ your people instead of _with_ them. That's literally the drive for just about every cliched _I-will-rule-the-world_ villain over the last few centuries of human history!”

Victus didn't think she was trying to be offensive, so he endeavored not to bristle at the implication. “It would seem, Councilor, there are matters we can all learn from each other. What you just said implies a clear lack of understanding of my race. We are military-minded. We follow the orders of our superiors.”

“And whose orders do the primarchs follow?” She countered.

“Their own,” he answered sternly. “ They take counsel with a group of advisers and make an ultimate decision as the situation demands.”

“Which might work for turians, but it won't work for the galaxy as a whole.” Parasini turned to Irissa, wielding a pointed stare. “We _can't_ just ignore them.”

“There were voting systems in place on the Citadel, Councilor,” Wiks reminded them. “Granted, they certainly had their flaws, but the council adhered to them.”

“Obviously not well enough,” Parasini countered. “More than half the galactic population went unheard. Quarians, volus, drell- they didn't get a say.”

“Because they didn't _earn_ one,” the asari Councilor sharply cut in. “They did not contribute to the overall growth of the galaxy to earn it.”

Victus was always proficient at recognizing the ideal time to strike.

“They certainly weren't instrumental in its near destruction either.” His eyes pierced hers. He saw the anger flash in their depths.

“This again, Victus?” The asari snapped. “Withholding information on the artifact was Tevos' decision!”

“And one that cost us greatly. For all the growth the asari put into the galaxy, they certainly did an excellent job weakening it. The same can't be said of the volus, the hanar, the elcor. Tell me, Councilor. Why should the asari retain their seat and claim the other races haven't earned theirs?”

“Councilor, Victus,” Wiks inquired with keen interest. “Are you suggesting we open up seats to the other races?”

“I am.”

“Goddess, Victus.” Irissa pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. “Just how naive, are you? You want to grant a seat to elcor? To hanar? To _krogan_?”

“Why not?” It was Councilor Wiks that inquired. His voice rang with more confidence than it had held at any previous point of their conversation. I was that sudden surge of confidence that earned him the room's attention. “It would grant us the perfect opportunity to observe what they do with it. How will they ever progress as a species if we constantly hinder their growth? Why not give them the same opportunities as our races? They will either excel or fail as evolution demands, but we'll never know if we constantly interfere and keep them underfoot.”

Victus had a feeling Wiks wasn't just speaking generally.

“You're talking about the krogan, aren't you?” He asked.

Wiks nodded.

Perhaps Victus was mistaken on his assessment as to who his most-likely ally was going to be.

“I'm all for equal opportunities, but... krogan?” For the first time since the conversation had begun, Parasini looked uncertain.

“It wasn't as if your buddy, Wrex, helped you out for free, Victus,” prompted Councilor Asteria. “It took a whole escapade on Tuchunka for his aid.”

“And it took the downfall of the asari homeworld for yours.” Judging the look on her face, if Irissa was able to use her biotics through holographic interface she would have.

“What the asari Councilor is _trying_ to say,” Parasini interjected again. “Is that the galaxy might not be ready for krogan to have such power yet. They were _just_ cured of the genophage. Maybe we should wait and see what they do with it.”

“I disagree,” Victus parried. “From what I've learned over the past several months, one should never leave a krogan to their own devices and hope for the best. I understand your concern of a violent krogan resurgence, but what better way to keep an eye on them than to bring them into our fold?”

The asari and human both looked skeptical.

“I understand humans have a saying about 'keeping your enemies close?'” Victus directed the question at Parasini.

She sighed deeply. “Yeah. We do.”

“If we're going to bring a krogan Councilor in, it will _not_ be to treat them as an enemy,” Councilor Wiks objected.

 _'Clever salarians. I can see why they put this guy forward as an answer to the protests,'_ Victus thought privately.

“I'm not suggesting we do,” he reiterated. “You see, I've hired a krogan as my own bodyguard and he has been nothing less than a staunch protector. I've put my life in his hands day after day and never once regretted it. It's my hope that we'll see a similar outcome with them working with us-"

"- And where was your _'staunch protector_ ' when that assassin got into your apartment and nearly killed you?" The asari Councilor shot the question like a bullet dipped in toxins. It was meant to get a rise out of her opponent, but Victus knew better than that. He pushed on as if her interruption was little more than an innocent inquiry.

"I'm glad you asked. With Naash at my side and monitoring my whereabouts, he was a problem to my would-be killer. If he was going to be successful, he had to remove the armor from my vitals- that armor, if you're not aware at this point, was my krogan." The last bit was explained to the asari as if he were addressing an easily distracted child. He earned a nasty sneer for his efforts. "So the assassin went through rather great lengths to stage an accident, injuring my bodyguard's mate and temporarily turning his attention elsewhere. It was a mistake any of us could have made, krogan or not." Victus took a moment to allow the other Councilors to comment, but when none did, he went on. "I digress. _I_ _f_ we find ourselves facing the beginnings of another rebellion, we'll be in a far better position to stop it before it starts.”

“They shouldn't have been cured in the first place,” Irissa seethed. “Maybe we should remove the turians from _their_ seat, seeing as it was their Chief Primarch who put us in this situation in the first place.”

“That's ridiculous!” Wiks snapped. “The decision to go forward with the genophage was one born from desperation. At the time, it was necessary to end the war, but by no means should we have kept it going for as long as we did. We should not equate ourselves as divine rulers over their fate. We should have pushed for a cure long ago.”

“Regardless of how you feel about it, Councilor Asteria, it happened,” Victus calmly stated. “I argue that our galaxy has never been in a better position to stop the krogan than it is now.”

All eyes fell on him in that moment, silently acknowledging him to continue.

“When the krogan rebellions began, until the turians joined the community, the only forces available to repel them were the asari commandos and the salarian fleets. Today, that is no longer the case. The salarians still have the bulk of their fleet and the asari still have their commandos, but you have reinforcements now that you didn't before. Now you have the quarians and by proxy their alliance with the geth, which we can make use of if they are granted a seat. My people and the humans-” His eyes shifted to Parasini “-are currently allied closer than any other races with the most collective firepower at our disposal to enforce us.” His right mandible twitched into a smile. “I'd almost like to see the krogan try.”

“I agree with Councilor Victus,” said Wiks. “Never in our history have we had a better chance to strive for true peace.”

True peace. Probably not the term Victus would have used. True peace was a pipe dream people cling to in the hopes that all their problems will simply go away some day. It was unrealistic. As long as people continued to make mistakes, which they always would, it would remain no more than a pleasant notion to think about. Still, Victus could agree that it was worth striving for.

“I agree as well,” concurred the human Councilor, albeit a little reluctantly.

All eyes in the room sought Irissa's, but she stood passively with her arms crossed.

“I'll admit you made your case for the quarians and krogan, but I haven't heard anything for elcor, volus, hanar, and drell,” she said, remaining obstinate in her defiance. Victus was just able to keep his frustration from slipping past his calm visage. Irissa knew that in order for them to pass this decision, it needed to be made unanimously.

Little did she know; Victus had already forced her hand days ago.

“I'd say the case for them has been made two days ago, Councilor, when protesters took to the streets following your announcement. After what the asari pulled, I'm afraid you're in no position to decide which race harbors the best intentions for the galaxy.” Victus began to advance slowly on the asari. “We have already proven that our races are at their strongest when they work together. Just ask the reapers.”

“That isn't the way things work, Victus!” She objected, but he could definitely detect a hint of defeat in her tone. “All of that may look good on a datapad, but in practice it simply _won't_ work. The asari have been maintaining this galaxy far longer than any of the other races.”

“That was before Commander Shepard.”

The tried and true Shepard card had the immediate impact it always did when it was put into play. Everyone in the room tended to get a little more humble; A little more quiet. Eyes would start seeking solace in the floor.

“We have nothing to lose, Irissa,” Councilor Parasini said gently, yet firmly.

It wasn't exactly true though. The Council races, particularly the asari and salarians, had quite a bit to lose in the decision. To agree to it would be to confirm that, for the last two thousand years, they had been wrong. Yet, she had no choice. The power and influence they wielded like one of their bioticly-charged swords had been reduced to no more than a dull knife. The salarians recognized that, evidenced by their quick change in their current nominee. The asari would have to recognize it as well despite the grievous wound delivered to their pride. The protests had inflicted such monumental damage to their image, both past and present, that Victus doubted they'd ever truly recover.

_'And isn't that the turian way? Defeat your enemies with overwhelming force so they can never recover to be a threat again.'_

Looking at his adversary, Victus could see the insecurity enter her eyes. It betrayed her uncertainty for her next move. To a predator, that meant she was vulnerable.

“Do you remember that night on Earth? You told me you cared deeply for your people, despite what I may think of you. I believe that to be true, Irissa.” He had crossed the floor and now stood inches from the holographic asari. He kept his voice gentle, sub-harmonics alluring in the way he knew many asari and humans favored. “You want to protect them. I can understand that. Especially now and you feel that the only way to do that is by safeguarding their image. Whether the fault of these protests lies solely on the asari and salarian's actions or not, the damage has been done. All you can do to repair it- to restore the image of the asari, is to start taking steps towards that end. Consider this the first step of many.”

Irissa's eyes glanced down uncertainly at Victus' hand as he reached out and offered it to her.

“Take that step with me. We can repair it together.” He kept his voice calm to conceal the thinly-veiled order it was and he waited with his outstretched hand.

After a long moment, Irissa closed her eyes and carefully placed her holographic hand into his solid one. There was no feeling of skin touching hide, but the meaning remained the same.

“Alright,” she conceded through a breath.

“Good,” Councilor Parasini chimed in. “Councilor Victus, the volus are a client race to the turians. Would you be willing to inform their government that we expect a Councilor nominee from them?”

“Of course.” Victus nodded as he stepped away from Irissa to regard the human. “I'll also inform the krogan.”

“I'll tell the quarians and elcor,” informed Councilor Irissa.

“I'll converse with the hanar and drell,” said Councilor Wiks.

“Great. That leaves me with the oh-so-friendly batarians,” Councilor Parasini said with a capitulating sigh.

“No.” The word snapped out of Victus like the crack of whip. He regretted it a second after it happened, but with all eyes turned to him, he was left with little choice but to elaborate. “The Hegemony was made up of nothing but rapists, murderers, and slavers. They have no business in galactic affairs.”

“True...” Councilor Wiks hesitantly began. “Their history is quite... unsavory. Yet, we must keep in mind the devastation that the reapers inflicted on them. The Hegemony, as we knew it, might not even exist anymore.”

“I don't care for them either, Councilor,” Parasini admitted, addressing Victus. “But we can't just give every race, bar vorcha, a seat on the Council and expect the batarians not to revolt against that.”

“Let them,” Victus retorted with a growl. He did not like the direction this meeting had turned and he could feel his small victory slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

“They might not be able to do anything now, but later? After they've had time to bolster their numbers? You were a general, Victus. You should have an idea of what that would look like,” Councilor Asteria told him.

He did, but it was still a filthy insult to Magrim's memory for him to even _consider_ working with a representative for the Hegenomy. A betrayal.

“Then give them back their damn assembly, if you must,” Victus argued. “They were less than useless during the war. The _vorcha_ were more helpful than they were.”

“They were also hit hard and first before any of us even knew the reapers had entered the galaxy. They never stood a chance.” Councilor Parasini narrowed her eyes at him. “Maybe after such a hard lesson of having no one to aide them, they'll change their tune towards the other races.”

“For someone who just preached about equality for all, you seem especially antagonistic towards them,” was Councilor Asteria's caustic observation.

“Bringing a bunch of slavers and rapists into our decision-making isn't exactly going to inspire confidence in our Council!” Victus' voice had been kept at a calm tenure since the beginning of the meeting, but it had definitely begun to rise now.

“As odd as it is to admit, the reapers might have been the best thing to happen to the batarian people. Their whole society, there very _culture,_ built on slavery was all destroyed. If there was ever a time for them to change, it's now,” said Councilor Wiks. “That won't happen if we turn our backs on them and deny them the same chance we are giving the other races.”

“Agreed,” said Councilor Parasini.

“Agreed,” said Councilor Asteria.

Just like that, Victus found himself on the receiving end of the same critical stares that, just a moment ago, had been directed at Irissa. Up until that moment, he felt he had absolute control over the meeting, but now, he felt almost powerless. As much as he wanted to remain in opposition- and _spirits_ , he did- for Magrim's sake, there was a reluctant part of him that could understand what they were trying to say.

He understood that not every batarian was responsible for forcing a young mother to blow herself up. Not every batarian had a hand in Tarquin having to grow up with only minimal memories of the woman who carried him inside her for six months, then birthed him and loved him. The woman who would peer up at Victus with their tiny, fluffy fledgling curled beneath her chin, encapsulating his whole world in a single frame of vision. Not every batarian could be held accountable for the loss of his sweetest friend. More to the point, he understood that the batarians that had made the call to attack that frigate were likely all dead.

However, hatred is rarely judicious and his particular brand ran too deep and too black to see through it with any sort of clarity. Though, he had learned long ago that vision isn't always a requirement in order to recognize when one is beaten.

Through clenched teeth and a voice that trembled with barely-suppressed rage he said, “Agreed.”

“Alright then.” Councilor Parasini nodded. “Now that that's out of the way, we can discuss more nuanced topics. I propose we start with the little matter of just how the hell we're going to get the whole damn Citadel back where it belongs.”

 

* * *

 

At nearly two hours, Victus had begun seeing the light on the other side of the comm meeting. His mouth still tasted of sour bile, leftover from their previous discussion and he was tempted to wash the sensation away with a swift ending to their meeting, but he swallowed past it. For the good of the galaxy, he pushed on to the final matter before farewells could be exchanged.

“Before we conclude our first meeting, Councilors, there is one more concern I wish to address. It pertains to the events of my attempted assassination.” His eyes swept the holograms. Wiks held a look of both concern and interest. Asteria, predictably, looked bitter as if she regretted the failure of said assassination attempt.

 _'Probably does.'_ The thought almost caused a huff of inappropriate laughter to escape.

Parasini, however, looked at him with neither concern nor interest. She appraised him with a knowing look in her eyes that instantly drew his attention.

“It's my understanding that Primarch Agoril was responsible,” stated Councilor Wiks. Victus heard him, but did not answer immediately. He was too fixated on the human Councilor. She met his gaze unflinchingly and as the seconds ticked by with nothing said between them, the silence began to speak volumes.

She knew.

“He was,” Victus omitted, “but only in part. Councilor Parasini, forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you don't seem at all surprised.”

Asari and salarian eyes swiveled to the human, which caused her to momentarily retract her gaze from the turian to regard each of them. Victus noticed the way her throat tightened as she swallowed, followed shortly by her short, pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips. He equated that human reaction to a nervous mandible flutter on a turian.

When her brown eyes came back to meet his, she seemed to confirm something to herself. “That's because I'm not. He had help from the Alliance.”

Surprised, Asteria looked at Parasini with slightly widened eyes. Wiks did the same, but his shock was far less subdued as he regarded the human with an open-mouthed stare.

“Exactly when did you plan to inform us of this, Councilor?” Wiks asked.

Parasini sighed. “Later, after all this turmoil with the protesters dies down. I didn't want to potentially add more fuel to the fire, but since Councilor Victus is suddenly all about transparency, I guess now is as good a time as any.”

“You know, it sounds like you just didn't want to _'add_ _fuel to a fire'_ when that fire would be underneath humanity.” Asteria's surprised look had become tainted with suspicion. “Damn the rest of us.”

“I had nothing to do with the protests against the asari and salarians. Your governments did that just fine on their own!” Parasini defended.

 _'With help,'_ Victus thought privately.

“But if that's what you want to hear, fine. I _am_ looking out for humanity, but not for the conclusions I see you drawing. Think about it. How do you suppose it would look if, out of all of us, only the turian Councilor remained free from the scrutiny of the public?” She raised an open palm to gesture to the said turian Councilor. “He's arguably the most powerful and supported person among us already. Weakening humanity's image would do nothing except strengthen _his_ influence. We're not much of a Council if only one of us has any real merit to the people.”

Victus was stunned into silence as his mind tried to process what the human Councilor had just said. Did Parasini just insinuate that he had somehow become... the most powerful figure in the galaxy?

He understood his far-reaching influence over the turian hierarchy, but he had never considered the extent of his clout on a galactic scale. After all, he was once a simple man, serving proudly as a general that used to look forward to the end of each mission so that he could go home and chat with his son in the kitchen. How far away was he now from that simple man he used to be?

“You look surprised, Victus,” Irissa noted. “And here I thought the turians and humanity were in bed together.”

Victus ignored the asari, his attention still on the human Councilor. “I... suspect you know what prompted them to attack me.”

She licked her lips once more before responding with, “It was after you inquired about Commander Shepard.”

“Commander Shepard?” Councilor Wiks echoed, astounded. “What does she have to do with this?”

Victus and Parasini held their stare for a moment longer before Victus said, “They're keeping Commander Shepard hidden. I have proof of it.”

“What?”

“That's absurd!”

The asari and salarian reacted together.

With reluctance, Parasini nodded. “It's true.”

“Why?” Victus asked, keeping his tone conversational.

“Let me make myself clear; I don't approve of it,” she stressed. “What you need to understand is that the war left a huge power vacuum and with so much uncertainty, people were- _are_ scared. There's been riots and chaos happening on Earth for months now. The thing is, the Alliance anticipated that was going to happen. So when they recovered Shepard, barely alive after the Crucible fired, a one Major Gerald Coats saw her as their much needed solution to seize control of the coming anarchy. He and Admiral Hackett argued about it. Quite heatedly, from what I've heard, but Hackett ultimately decided to leave the decision to Alliance brass. He assumed, after all the years he's served them, they would take his side.”

Parasini's hands rose and then fell to slap the front of her thighs, punctuating the futility of it all. “They didn't. The concept of using Commander Shepard as a way of regaining control and respect in the populace was too alluring, I guess. Except Commander Shepard was-... is, in no shape to deal with that right now. Their hope is that, once she's recovered, they can use her as a shiny little figurehead to push into the angry mobs.”

“Why keep her hidden?” Victus asked. “She has friends that are alive and well and want nothing more than to see her again. Are you aware that they've kept the recovery of the _Normandy_ and her crew a secret from her?”

“They're keeping her hidden because they don't want any one of them to break her out before she's physically ready. They've kept the _Normandy_ crew hidden from _her_ because they don't want her breaking out before _they're_ ready.” A slight smile tugged at the corner of Parasini's mouth. “I can't really blame them for the latter. Crippled or not, she is the most accomplished infiltrator the Alliance has. Hell, she single handedly broke out of an entire space station of indoctrinated soldiers and scientists and then proceeded to destroy a mass relay. What's a hospital to her?”

“It sounds like you condone their actions,” Victus noted. His eyes narrowed into a steely glare.

Councilor Parasini raised her chin and met his glare with one of her own. With heat she told him, “I _don't_ .” She took a step towards Victus. “Which is why I've been working with Admiral Hackett towards her release for a year now, but the Alliance are firmly against it until they're ready to do so. They understand the shitstorm they've gotten themselves into and how it will hit the fan spectacularly if they fuck it up. That's why they reacted the way they did when you started asking questions. You scared them. They're aware the Commander considers you a friend and, more importantly, they're _very_ aware of your adviser's relationship with her. Their little human-turian liaison complicates matters for the Alliance.”

“How so?” He had an idea.

“They're optimistic for Shepard's cooperation once she's released. She's always been a loyal soldier, especially to Hackett. Having not only a turian, but the _adviser_ to the Primarch of Palaven whispering in her ear is not ideal to their goals, regardless if that's truly the case or not.”

“It's not,” Victus assured. “My adviser is not the slightest bit politically ambitious.”

“ _He's_ not... but you?”

Victus scoffed at the implication. “His loyalties are well-established with the commander. I have no doubt whom he would choose in a 'which-one-should-I-save' scenario and neither does he. He's also very aware of my certainty of that.”

“I didn't think so. Even if he was, I can't see Commander Shepard falling victim to that.” She spread her hands into a helpless gesture. “Because of one man's decision, they got themselves surrounded by a minefield of fuckery and they know that one wrong step could blow everything up for humanity. I'm trying to prevent that from happening while simultaneously helping the Commander out. Who do you think sent that S.O.S signal to you?”

“That was you?”

“Yup.” Her soft human lips popped the _P_ sound. “I've been pulling strings to get where I am far longer than you think. After I started organizing shipments from Noveria to the Crucible project, Hackett put me in charge of a district and I worked my way up from there. By the time you spoke with him, I was already the human Councilor- well... in all but name. I was listening to your conversation with him, but so were the other members of Alliance brass and man... I could almost _feel_ all their buttholes pucker when you brought up Commander Shepard.” She paused to chuckle lightly at her own joke before continuing with a coy smirk, “You really scare them, you know. Hackett got a _lot_ of flack for agreeing to link our relay with yours. They're very convinced you're going to fly a fleet through that relay to take Earth any day now.”

“They do, do they?” Another bit of information he filed away for later.

She replaced her playful smirk with a look far more ominous.“The war changed the Systems Alliance, Councilor. It wasn't the revolving door of religious figures, presidents, and prime ministers my people turned to for help. If anything, they learned not to trust any of our world leaders because you could never be sure who was indoctrinated. Instead, they learned to look to the Alliance to fill that leadership gap. They placed all their hopes and faith in them... In Shepard. As a result, the Alliance has become far more involved in Earth's affairs, both galactic and terrestrial, than ever before. And I don't think they're interested in receding to what they were before the invasion.” She snorted. “In their eyes, you're a seven foot, two-hundred-something pound ticking time bomb threatening to blow all of it up.”

“Am I also to assume that you were behind the krogan bringing me the coordinates for Commander Shepard's location?”

She grinned at the question. Her dark eyes shown with mischief that reminded him of Attilia. “I... was somewhat behind that. I asked a favor of an old friend.”

“So you're familiar with this 'Mr. Thax. _'_ ”

“Ever one for the dramatics. Mr. Thax is actually a turian I used to work with on Noveria. He's risen quite high since Shepard helped him out all those years ago. His real name is Lorik Qui'in. I asked him the favor, but as it turned out, he was very eager to help the Commander. He said he'd go _'the whole 8 fields,'_ for her. ” A huff of laughter emitted through her smiling mouth. “I took that to mean he likes her. I gave him the coordinates, he passed them on to one of his contacts, and then they were passed on to you.”

_'Bodies to be placed between her and her involvement.'  
_

“So the Alliance is keeping one of our Spectres from us?”

Victus had nearly forgotten the other two Councilors. He turned to look at Councilor Asteria after her, what appeared to be, rare show of empathy.

_'Or she simply views it as a slight against her position.'_

“Yes,” Councilor Parasini affirmed.

“We'll have to remedy that,” agreed Councilor Wiks.

“As it happens, Councilors,” Victus began. “I took it upon myself to name a new Spectre in light of my discovery. He's ready and waiting for the coordinates to retrieve her and I trust him implicitly to do so. First, however, I would like to schedule a meeting with an Alliance official. As the wounded party, I intend to speak with them alone.”

“Alone?” Councilor Parasini questioned.

“This matter goes beyond them holding a Council spectre. They launched an attack against the Primarch of Palaven, which makes it a Hierarchy matter as well. For the sake of ongoing peace between my people and the humans, I wish to handle the situation personally.” His eyes swept the room, pausing momentarily to meet the gazes of the aliens standing around him. “Do I have your support?”

“You have mine, Councilor Victus,” Councilor Wiks told him. “The more discretion we practice, the better.”

“You have mine as well,” Councilor Asteria said, though her tone was quite reluctant.

Councilor Parasini hesitated for a moment, but after several seconds she relented, “And you have mine.”

The minute their conference concluded and the aliens flickered out of sight, Victus raised his omni-tool, pulling up Garrus' name. High off his most recent victory, he excitedly typed:

**Pack your bags, Garrus. It's finally time to get your human. You're welcome.**

Just as he was about to hit send, he froze. His mandibles slackened against his jaw, hanging low as his grin slipped off his face. He reread his message once more and his frown deepened. His words were too comfortable. The informality appeared to be an exchange between friends, which Garrus was no longer.

_'I almost forgot.'_

His heart sank like a stone to rest heavily in his stomach as the casual sentence flitted away in the wake of the delete icon. After a moment of thought, he revised his message. Once he sent it, he extinguished his omni-tool and allowed his hand to fall limply at his side.

He felt just as empty as the silent comm chamber he stood in.

Solitude had a way of hollowing the ring of victory.

**Spectre Vakarian,  
You have two hours to board the next supply shuttle bound for Earth. You will await further orders upon landing. **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have [Mad Bee](https://twitter.com/angryspacebee) to thank for the amazing new cover art to this fic. It's placed at the beginning of [chapter one.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8355244/chapters/19139458)
> 
> One more chapter to go and I've already started it. I've also got a little something extra planned for when I post the final chapter that I think (hope) you guys will like. ;)  
> As always, thank you for all the kudos, comments and simply just returning to read my updates. It means so much!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a year since I started this story and now that we've come to the final chapter, I'm feeling both relieved and sad. I've had a wonderful time writing this turian and being a part of this little community. 
> 
> Thank you all for joining me and I hope you enjoy the final chapter.

The fauna of the silver woodlands buzzed noisily around him as Victus slowly made his way back to the concrete landing zone with an empty box hanging loosely from his talons. The plastic that lined it crinkled softly with each heavy footfall. He had laid Tarquin's ashes to rest at the foot of a colossal, millennium-old tree.

His heart felt like stone in his chest. He could only hope Tarquin would approve of his location choice to spread his ashes. They had a lot of fond memories together in those woods. They learned so much about themselves and each other and at the end, Victus learned he had one more breakdown to get through. It was something he anticipated, so he requested that his company remain by the car for his return.

That decision turned out to be a sound one. When he laid his brow against the trunk of the old tree he was helpless against the keen that vibrated from deep in his chest, mourning for both Tarquin and himself. Who knows when he'd ever be able to return to these woods; the place he was most happiest.

“Yeah, I'll tell him.” He heard Naash's deep baritone through the foliage. “Love you too.”

It had to be Toxx, whom he was speaking with.

As Adrien climbed the small incline at the base of the landing zone and emerged over the horizon, Naash glanced up at him. Adrien could see the concern in his slitted eyes even from the large distance between them.

“So-uh... how'd it go?” Naash asked after Adrien crossed the pavement to him.

“It's done,” was his solemn reply.

“I can see that,” Naash glanced briefly at the empty box. “You don't make this shit easy, do you? Fine. I mean, how're you holding up?”

Adrien had a lie prepared, even opened his mouth to spout it, but changed his mind at the last second. Naash was officially the only friend he had left, for the time being, anyway. He deserved better than a fabrication.

“I'm not,” he admitted. “But so much has happened to prepare me for this. It's something that had to be done.”

“Really? Seems to me it wouldn't be any trouble to bring his ashes with you. It's not like they take up much space. You don't seem to have a problem carting me around with you.” Naash flashed a rare smile, which surprised Adrien when a chuckle was dragged from him.

“True. Space is truly a luxury with you around,” Adrien quipped.

“Careful, Councilor. You'll hurt my feelings.”

“Councilor,” Victus echoed. “That's going to take some getting used to.”

“Sure, but you will. You got used to 'Primarch' didn't you?”

He did.

“Surprisingly. Though it did take me a while to stop checking behind me when someone addressed me as such.”

“You're changing the subject,” Naash observed. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“I must say, Naash. You must be the most observant krogan I've ever met.”

Folding his arms, Naash responded with, “And you're a typical racist turian.” The statement lost it's bite behind Naash's smirk.

“That's fair,” Victus acknowledged. “Not to say it isn't appreciated. You've been a wonderful krantt.”

“You're doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Never mind.”

Victus spared the krogan a grin before approaching the next topic he knew he had to get through; where Naash saw himself going from here.

“Speaking of being my krantt,” Victus began. “You know that I have to leave Palaven. I... would understand if you wanted to remain behind.”

The krogan's large head rolled back and a boisterous laugh bellowed from his maw. “You ain't getting rid of me that easy, Victus. You really don't understand what being someone's krantt means.” His amusement fled and he fixed Victus with a serious stare. To Victus' surprise, Naash lifted a large hand to grip his shoulder in a very... turian gesture.

Adrien could remember chanting mentally to himself, _'don't let him grab you,'_ when they first met and fought each other all those months ago. Now, Adrien felt no fear at all.

“I go where you go. I've got your back,” said the krogan.

“I appreciate that, Naash, but what about Toxx? I know how much he likes it here.”

“Yeah.” A flicker of uncertainty crossed his lamp-lit eyes and his hand withdrew from his shoulder. “He and I talked a lot about it. He would prefer to stay here. He's made friends and he's happy, and-well... as he put it, _'we built this life together.'”_ Adrien mentally prepared himself for Naash's inevitable resignation. The thought stung more than he ever thought possible. “He wants to go with me to the Citadel.”

It took Victus' brain a short second to comprehend his words. “He does?”

“Yeah. _He_ knows what being a krant means-” Naash gave him a pointed look. “-and he's not interested in a long distance relationship. Not after...” The krogan trailed off and Victus could have sworn he heard a slight waver in his voice.

“Not after you two waited so long for the opportunity to be together outwardly.”

Naash sneered at the sentimentality. “Something like that... yeah. Anyway, he said _'we built this life together, and we can build a new one on the Citadel._ ' He compared it to simply moving where the spouse's job takes us. Seems so... _domestic_." Naash paused, looking contemplative as his eyes flickered to the ground. "I kinda like it.”

“You deserve it,” Victus assured him. “And I'm grateful. I could use you at my side when dealing with the new krogan Councilor. Make sure I don't make any grave errors.”

Naash grinned a big, toothy smile. “Shit. I still can't believe you managed that. Never in my five-hundred years did I think I'd see the day. Don't worry, Victus. I won't let you get killed.”

Victus reached out to grip the krogan's shoulder.

“Appreciate it,” he said.

 

* * *

 

For the second time in as many days, Victus found himself within the glowing confines of the comm chamber. He waited patiently as the florescent lighting that lined the walls began to slowly dim as Solana sent the call across the Trebia system and into the receiving one. After several seconds, they dimmed almost completely as the hologram of an unfamiliar male human flickered into existence.

Victus had been expecting Hackett. Not the apparent stand-in before him.

The rather taciturn-looking man stood clad in a pressed Alliance uniform with the posture of a disciplined soldier. Black hair colored the top of his skull and it looked like some effort was put into styling it for their scheduled meeting. He appraised Victus with gray eyes, rimmed by bruised, discolored eyelids. He looked tired, but was making every effort to hide it. Victus knew the feeling well.

“It's good to finally meet you, Councilor,” said the human. “Admiral Gerald Coats.”

“Where's Hackett?” Victus greeted.

Coats looked slightly taken aback. “Apologies, Councilor. I've been asked to stand in on his behalf-”

“That's not what I asked.” Victus interrupted. “ _Where_ is Hackett?”

The human pressed his lips into a thin line. “As of yesterday, he's been honorably discharged.”

“ _Honorably discharged._ ” Victus echoed the phrase like it was the first time he had heard it.

“Yes, sir. He had served the Systems Alliance for over forty years now. Sad to see him go, but at his age, retirement suits him.”

Victus decided to say nothing, instead allowing the resulting silence to voice his displeasure at the news on his behalf. Within seconds, the quiet quickly thickened between them. Awkwardly Coats said, “I... understand the majority of your interactions with the Alliance were through him. I will be filling that role now, in his place.”

“I see. If you don't mind my saying, you don't look too thrilled about that.” He didn't. The man put on a brave face, but the cracks were showing. As Victus stared down at the human, he could almost see the moment when Coats realized he had bitten off more than he could chew.

“Am I that obvious?” The human tried for a joke. “I'm afraid the role is still new to me.”

Victus felt a brief stab of pity for the man. Clearly, he was simply a prey item that the Alliance had thrown in to placate the predator at their door. Then Victus reminded himself that it was this man's idea to keep Shepard's recovery a secret and his pity was snuffed out like a puff of smoke.

Victus flicked his mandible into a smile, unsure of the human's ability to read turian facial expressions. “I know the feeling,” Victus said. “I've only just participated in my first Council meeting the other day. Gianna Parasini was quite charming.”

The namedrop did just as Victus intended it to. Coat's heightened guard lowered slightly, evidenced by the show of teeth in his human smile.

“She's a lovely woman,” he agreed.

“I was especially surprised by her sense of humor. She wields it gracefully.” Victus' grin widened. He even made an effort to squint his eyes. If Coats didn't know how to read mandibles, he could surely recognize universal eye movement. He did, rewarding Victus with a chuckle, his squared shoulders dropping slightly.

“That she does.” Coats offered an agreeable head nod.

“I especially found it funny when she told me... oh, what was it?” Victus folded his arms across his chest and made a show of deep concentration. He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling as if he'd find the words written above him. “Oh yes. 'She could almost _feel_ all their buttholes pucker when I brought up Commander Shepard.'”

Coat's relaxed face made a lovely canvas to openly display the shock that hit him. Victus watched the array of emotions that rolled through the human, both those he could easily read and those he couldn't. Coat's mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came forth. Then, for half a second, he flickered out before returning again, now looking even more surprised.

“They tried to cut the comm on their end, sir.” Solana's voice reverberated from the hidden speakers in the chamber.

“Ah.” Victus' eyes bore into Coat's. “They did, did they?”

“Yeah, but I locked them into our system. They won't be doing that again.”

Victus couldn't ask how she managed it. At least, not while the victim of her attack could hear her answer, but inwardly he decided that Solana was likely the best decision he'd ever made when it came to hiring someone. A prodigy indeed.

Coats shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking entirely unsure where to go from there. Solana had linked the Alliance's system with theirs, but she wouldn't be able to stop the man from exiting the comm chamber on his end. From the way Coats kept glancing at the likely-placed door behind him, he was thinking the same thing.

“Walk out that door and I send a fleet through the relay,” Victus warned.

That got his attention, which was good because it was a sign Coats was unaware that Victus didn't truly have that kind of power anymore. A decision like that would still fall to the Chief Primarch.

“Admiral Coats, I have proof as well as the admission of your own Councilor that the System's Alliance is holding a Council Spectre against her will. As the Alliance's speaker, do you deny it?”

The admiral's mouth pressed into a hard line once again. His eyes darted onto something Victus couldn't see and he went still. He guessed that someone was speaking into an earpiece he wore. After several heartbeats, Coats fixed his gaze on Victus.

“Commander Shepard is an Alliance soldier first and foremost,” he spoke the lines as if parroting someone else. “Her health and well-being is our utmost concern. When she is fit for duty again, we will-”

“You will release her into my custody. _Now_.”

“I'm sorry, Councilor.” And he truly did look remorseful. “But we can't do that.”

“My mistake, Admiral. It would appear I haven't been very clear because you seem to be under the presumption that this is a negotiation. It's not,” Victus stated, straightening to his full height to tower over the human hologram. “You will also turn over the _Normandy_ into my custody along with a crew of the Commander's choosing.”

Coat's bristled at that, which was a reaction all his own. Heatedly, he argued. “With respect, Councilor, that _is_ an Alliance ship.”

“The SSV was an Alliance ship,” Victus countered. “Built with the help of Hierarchy engineers, if you'll recall. _That_ ship was destroyed. The vessel your people _seized-_ and you did _seize_ it, without Council permission I might add, is the SR2, which is technically a Cerberus ship. The Alliance simply repainted it and made some minor changes to the internal systems. Not even adequate changes if my adviser's unending complaints are to be believed. He was particularly annoyed over what was done to his thanix cannon, but I digress. As far as I'm concerned, it's Commander Shepard's ship and it was stolen from her when the Alliance incarcerated her- _again_ , without Council permission. ”

“You have no right-!”

“Right?” Victus cocked his head to the side. “I'm a Councilor. I have all the rights to that Spectre and, by proxy, _her_ ship. If you wish to speak of rights, Admiral, let us describe the Alliance's involvement in the attempt on my life.”

“Councilor, I assure you that the Alliance had nothing to do-”

“Don't. _Lie_. To me.” Each word quaked with a warning growl. “I have all the proof required of the Alliance's involvement. I wouldn't have killed your accomplice so readily if I had any doubts.”

Coats looked like he wanted to argue further. His mouth hung open, hinged on an unvoiced word, but he ultimately decided to close it instead. Victus went on.

“I can assure you that no one else has seen this proof with the exception of those closest to my circle. That does not include the other Primarchs. Thus far, I've retained the information because if any one of them learned that your people launched an assault on one of their own...” He trailed off, allowing his opponent to fill in the blanks. “For the sake of forging a new and peaceful future for our people, I'm perfectly willing to put this behind us and never mention it again, provided that each of my conditions are met.

“So you plan to extort the Commander from us, is that it?” Coats sneered.

“I don't do so lightly. As I said, I expect the _Normandy_ thrown in as well,” Victus corrected. “She's a _very_ fine ship.” He flared a mandible to form a carnivorous grin. Coats was silent, likely listening to his ear piece.

“Your human Councilor is impressive, but not even she would be able to repair humanity's image if this were to leak. She knows it. I think you know it. And I think the superiors you're currently talking to, know it. I can make this very simple for you, or _very_ hard. You turn the Commander over to the Spectre I've sent to Earth-” He paused upon noticing the way Coat's eyebrows shot up at the title. “-Oh yes. I've already sent a Spectre to retrieve her and believe me when I say he's not above spilling blood for his colleague so I suggest you cooperate with him. ”

“It's a hospital, for God sakes!” Coats spat.

“And later, he might care. He's... far from heartless, but in the heat of the moment... I _pity_ the person who stands between him and the Commander.”

“ _One woman_ ,” the human spat. “You would shed all that blood for _one woman_.”

“ _And_ the Normandy _,_ ” Victus corrected him again.

“The _Commander_ would never stand for that!”

“No. Thankfully her approval is not required. As a Spectre, she belongs to the Council... She belongs to _me_. Be thankful the terms I've given are all I'm asking.” He made a show of checking the time on his omni-tool. “As I'm sure you can imagine, Admiral, I'm a busy man. So I'm giving you ten seconds to give me your decision. After that, I leak the evidence of the Alliance's involvement, I send in my Spectre, _and_ I take away the reparations the Hierarchy has been forced to pay in light of the Relay 314 Incident.”

Coats stiffened at the last threat and, Victus deduced, so did whoever was speaking to the man through his earpiece. As Victus watched him, he began to mentally count down the seconds and then verbalized them when he hit: “Five. Four.”

Victus raised his omni-tool. “Three. Two-”

He sent Garrus the coordinates.

“Agreed!” Coats nearly shouted. “They... agree to your terms.”

Victus' eyes shifted from his device to level the human with a long, pointed stare. Once again, he felt an inkling of pity. He then looked back down and typed: **Minimal bloodshed,** before he regarded the human again. He watched as Coats trembled with barely-suppressed rage.

“I'm sorry,” he said, with a voice void of the rumbling growl it had carried earlier. “Truly I am. That you were forced to deal with me is unfair, but in my defense, I think I'm rather friendly for a turian diplomat because- and I can't stress this enough. If I was _any_ other Primarch-” Victus lowered his device, straightened his posture, and stared at the human with eyes fueled by the levity of his power. His voice dropped an octave and his next words trembled again in a renewed and viscous snarl. “-Earth would've been conquered _yesterday_.”

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Victus stood alone in the belly of the _Vitaez_ with only the steady drone of the nearby drivecore for company. He stationed himself at a small, circular table with the holographic image of the Citadel hovering before him. The distance of the station, from his ship, was only a couple hours away as displayed by the floating numbers that hovered just below the rotating station.

They were in the Sol system.

He checked his omni-tool frequently, hoping for a report from Garrus and each time he would lower it again, disappointed. He could only hope that the reason for his silence was due to distraction and not because he had encountered resistance at the hospital.

Victus was about the send him a message, inquiring his ETA when the flight lieutenant's voice cracked across the drone of the drivecore. It was the very same lieutenant that had guided the dreadnought from Earth so many months ago.

“Councilor Victus, I've just received word from the Normandy's pilot. They've left Earth's atmosphere and are on course for the Viteaz. ETA in two hours,” he reported.

The notification caused an odd knot of nerves to twist in his gut.

“Thank you, Flight Lieutenant.” Victus spoke into his omni-tool, transferring his voice to the pilot's visor. “Commence boarding protocol as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

Victus glanced down at his omni-tool, once again feeling the urge to message Garrus for no other reason than to ask his status. The knot in his gut tightened. He knew the next two hours would likely prove to be among the slowest he's ever had to endure.

Was Commander Shepard alright?

Was Garrus alright?

Victus was already waiting at the airlock when the two hours eventually passed. He could hear the _Vitaez's_ hydraulics pull and stretch within her walls like muscles and tendons beneath hide as her docking tube reached across space to seal to the _Normandy's_ hull. Turian techs crouched at the scene, omni-tools raised and their eyes fixed on the data that scrolled across their orange screens. At long lost, the chief technician sprung to her feet, her hand poised in a sharp salute before she had even straightened entirely.

“Docking tube is secured. At your ready, sir.”

Walking through a docking tube was never something one grew entirely used to. It was exposing, like laying your neck across a chopping block and hoping the man with the ax was on your side. He glanced at the bulky krogan that walked beside him. Naash's posture was stiff and his mouth was set in a grim line.

“I can tell you don't like walking through these tunnels either,” Victus observed.

“Nope. Hate it. Having two sets of lungs isn't going to help much if we get spaced.”

A true enough statement. The vacuum of space was cold and merciless to all. Still, there was something unsettling about seeing someone as large and as powerful as a krogan get unnerved about anything.

When he and Naash reached the end of the tunnel, they were scanned and sterilized before the _Normandy's_ airlock hissed open to admit them. He was given a sharp reminder of how bright humans kept their ships when he was forced to blink away the light that met him.

“Welcome aboard, Councilor,” came a familiar human voice to his left. Victus glanced over to find the same pilot that had flown the _Normandy_ when he was last aboard. The man was swiveled around in his chair, signature hat firmly in place atop his head.

Victus couldn't immediately place the name, but he knew who he was. More specifically, he remembered some of the jokes he heard from turian soldiers about him.

_'Why does the Alliance hire pilots with brittle bone disease?'_

_'So their marines can beat someone in hand to hand drills.'_

The pilot began to heft himself from his seat to properly greet him, but Victus chose to save him the trip by hurrying towards him with a hand already stretched in the human gesture. The pilot readily took his hand and grinned.

“Name's Jeff, if you don't remember.”

_'That was the name. Garrus called him Joker.'_

“I remember,” Victus assured him. Victus' eyes wandered to the empty chair beside Jeff, searching for the strange ( _'and very illegal'_ ) entity that use to reside there. Jeff followed his eyes and frowned.

“Edi,” he supplied, voice tinged with the unmistakable sound of despair, though he made an effort to hide it. “She-uh... went down after the Crucible fired.”

“Any plans to bring her back online?”

The question caused Jeff's mouth to press together in a grim line. Either the answer was disappointing or Victus, as a Councilor, had just asked outright if the human planned to conduct illegal galactic activity involving an AI. Before Jeff had to think of an answer, Victus spared him by saying, “Forget I asked. I assume the Commander is aboard?”

“Yeah,” he answered quickly. “She's down in the med-bay with Garrus. Do you-uh... need someone to show you the way or...?”

“I remember.” Victus nodded. “Thank you.”

Victus turned and took a step toward the CIC door. When it opened, he was surprised at how welcome the sight was to him and he could only imagine what the ship's captain felt upon seeing it again.

“Man it's weird being around turians again,” he heard Jeff comment to himself just before the door shut between them.

As Victus moved through the CIC, he allowed himself a moment to take it all in again. This ship was a temporary home to him at the very beginning of his Primarch days. There was less staff moving around, but those that were present all stopped to salute him and greeted him with, “Councilor.” He bypassed the elevator for now, deciding to instead visit another part of the ship he had grown to know very well. He paused briefly to peer into the conference room, remembering the heated debates that took place there between himself, the Commander, Wrex, and the Dalatrass.

“ _How will curing the genophage benefit my people?” The Dalatrass demanded._

“ _How long do you think you'll last alone against the reapers? Because if you don't help, that's how it'll end up,” the Commander countered._

“ _And I'll be the last friendly turian you will ever see,” Victus added._

“ _What's it gonna be?”_

_The Dalatrass paused to touch her fingertips to her face, annoyed at the verbal assault. Finally, she relented. “The females are being kept at one of our STG bases on Sur'Kesh, but I warn you, Commander. The consequences of this will-”_

“ _Will be nothing compared to what happens if the reapers win.” the Commander turned to snap her interruption just as she was leaving._

“ _Let's get the females!” Wrex declared._

“ _You're not setting foot on Sur'Kesh. This will take time!”_

“ _It happens now,” Victus argued. “As a council spectre, Shepard can oversee the exchange.”_

“ _We're going,” the said Spectre growled._

In lieu of that conversation, the reapers now laid in the wakes of their own destruction. Victus tore his eyes from the room and allowed his feet to beat a familiar path to his destination; The War Room. He hesitated before entering.

Sensing his trepidation, Naash asked, “You alright?”

“I'm not sure,” he answered honestly. “This room... I spent a lot of time here. It was in here when I learned of my son's death.”

“I can hang out here, if you need a minute,” the krogan offered with a voice that could almost be described as tender.

Victus nodded before stepping up to the doors. As soon as the they admitted his entrance, he moved slowly into the room. There were a few human techs that milled about and they glanced up at him curiously. None of them knew what went on in this room. None of them knew the exact spot Victus had been standing when he received the news of Tarquin's death, when he realized that it was his order that killed his son. None of them knew where he and Wrex faced off. Victus was distraught from the news of his son, trying hard to keep it together, and Wrex was angry over the news of the bomb. Both were seconds away from coming to blows until the Commander fearlessly placed her tiny human body between them.

“ _We couldn't risk another galactic war with the krogan!”_

“ _The genophage wasn't enough? You had to plant a bomb on my planet?”_

“ _The decision was made hundreds of years ago. So much has changed!”_

“ _Not enough to tell us about the bomb, coward!”_

“ _Hey!” The commander cut in. “We can't let the past rip us apart. Working together, we have a chance. Primarch, you had a bomb on Tuchunka. And Wrex, in the turians' place you would've done the same damned thing!”_

“ _Shepard-” Wrex tried to argue, but the Commander was swift to cut him off._

“ _It's over!” She snapped at the eight-hundred pound krogan. Eyes alight with fury. “His own son died today making this right!”_

Victus opened his eyes, unsure when he had closed them and withdrew his hand from the console he had rested it on. He tried not to look at the curious stares that had been directed his way. The sight he must've made; turian Councilor suddenly becoming emotional without warning.

They didn't know.

Victus turned and exited the War Room for what he knew would be his final time. He made a beeline for the elevator and only stopped to motion his guard to wait for him in the CIC. He didn't feel threatened on this ship at all.

He stood patiently as the elevator lowered him to the crew deck. He felt a smile tug at his mandibles as he recalled how slow it was. It would seem not much had changed since then. Finally, the doors slid open to admit him into the hallway.

He spared a glance at the lounge, remembering the drink he had shared with the Commander after she broke the news of his son. He lingered only a moment before he rounded the elevator shaft and came face to face with the med-bay's closed door. His feet halted before he could grow close enough for the doors to sense his presence. He was frozen in place, suddenly nervous of what lay beyond that entrance.

There were very few individuals in the galaxy that could humble him the way Commander Shepard could. In fact, at this point in his career, she was perhaps the only individual in the galaxy that could make him this unsure.

He had to force himself to take a deep breath, reminding him that she worked for him now, and stepped toward the doors. He half-hoped they wouldn't open, but they did. Once again, his feet drew to a halt as his eyes took in the scene before him.

There she was; the woman that every being in the galaxy owed their lives to. He was so sure she was dead, even contemplated continuing like she was even after he learned the truth. Propped up in a seated position, she was very much alive, just as her turian knew all along. The said turian sat on a chair beside her bed, his head resting in her lap as she stroked his fringe lovingly. Her mouth was pulled into a serene smile and her eyes stared down at Garrus like she couldn't believe he was there in front of her again.

Victus felt like he was approaching an alter to the very spirit of war. Trepidation of his worthiness arose within him and the thought to turn away, not wanting to intrude any longer, occurred to him. He might have followed through with that thought if the spirit's eyes hadn't glanced up to trap him in her stare. His feet froze.

“We have a visitor,” she whispered to the turian in her lap. Garrus glanced up at him, barely moving his head as he did so, and Victus watched his whole body stiffen. His blue eyes squinted into a glare and his posture curled protectively around the human. The message was received loud and clear; _“I'm watching you.”_

Victus couldn't blame him. After all, their last encounter ended with Victus referring to this very woman as little more than an object. A commodity. He wouldn't have wanted to leave Magrim alone with such a vile person either.

The commander noticed the exchange. Her brows knitted together as her eyes flickered back and forth between the two turians.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“No,” Victus answered before Garrus could. Keeping his voice gentle, he asked, “May I speak with you privately, Commander?” His sub-harmonics, however, whispered a different meaning he knew only Garrus would hear, _“I promise to be brief.”_

“Of course, Primarch... Councilor,” she corrected. “Sorry. That's going to take some getting used to.”

Victus smiled and began to move towards her. “For me as well."

She laughed softly, not at all intimidated by his presence, and she turned her attention back to Garrus. “I'm not going anywhere, Big Guy. Give us ten minutes. I'm sure you can find something to calibrate in that time.”

Garrus shot her an annoyed look. “You're not as funny as you think you are.”

“You know, the Alliance has had possession of the Normandy for some time now. _Imagine_ how badly they've messed up that Thanix cannon.”

“Shepard, there are things you can joke about and things you just _can't_.”

“Who said I was joking?”

Garrus looked torn now. His eyes glanced from her face to the side window in the direction of the forward battery.

“Go on,” she urged. “Ten minutes.”

“Come now, Garrus.” A gray-haired woman swept from her desk to lay a gentle hand on Garrus' back. Victus recognized her as the doctor that was aboard the _Normandy_ when he was last aboard. “She'll be fine.”

Garrus met the Commander's gaze for a moment before he began to lift himself from his chair at the doctor's behest. He then took the time to lean over the human to caress the top of her head with his mandible before dipping his head to press his brow against hers. It was a gesture he wouldn't have dared to do in front of Victus during the war, but he apparently held no such reservations anymore.

To Victus' slight surprise, the human did not hesitate to return the turian gesture. Then, as Garrus moved to pass him, all the warmth that was present in his eyes froze over as he gave Victus a chilly look.

“Councilor,” he greeted, but coming from him, Victus could only take it as an insult. He hid the stab of pain inflicted by the curt word with an icy look of his own.

“Spectre Vakarian.”

At the sound of the hospital doors closing behind both Garrus and the doctor, Victus' eyes shifted back to the human woman and found that she had watched their exchange. Her brow wrinkled in a display of confusion.

“Spectre Vakarain,” she echoed as Victus took Garrus' place in the seat beside her bed. “It suits him.”

“I agree. I think he'll make a fine one.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, eyes fixed on the door where the said spectre had just retreated through. Then her eyes flickered back to him and she said, “You look well. You've come a long way since Menae. I still remember the look on your face when Garrus informed you that you were the new Primarch.”

Victus chuckled, starting to feel slightly more at ease in her presence. He always liked this human.

“I remember staring at Palaven as it burned and thinking to myself, _'oh fuck me.'_ ”

He was rewarded with a light chuckle. “You know, I remember thinking those exact words hundreds of times over during the war.”

“I always thought you and I had a lot in common. Apparently self-deprecating phrases is one of them.” He felt his grin melt slightly when he went on with, “You also know the burden of a title that all but replaces your name.”

Her smile faded and her eyes grew sad before she nodded her head in agreement.

After a pause she asked, “So... want to tell me why the air in here became so frigid the second you entered?”

No. He didn't.

“Vakarian and I had a disagreement recently.”

“Oh?” She prompted.

“Yes,” was all the answer he was willing to give on the subject.

She waited for more, but after several beats of silence, she said, “That's kind of weird. From what he told me, I have you to thank for getting me out of there.”

Victus grinned. “I played a part, yes, but none of it would have come to fruition had he not come to me, insisting that you were alive in the first place. In fact, I tried to persuade him to drop it; that he was just speaking out of desperation, but... he refused to give up on you.”

The commander's eyes moistened slightly, but she quickly blinked it away. “Yeah. He's got a bit of history of that. He never gave up on me... even during moments when I was tempted to.”

Her lack of sub-harmonics did little to hide the emotion he heard in her flat, human voice. There was no doubt in Victus' mind; she loved Garrus as much as he loved her.

“I... take it you've known about us for a while now?”

“Longer than you think.”

An amused smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth and she gave him a sideways look. “Oh? Do I want to know?”

“Probably not. I walked in on you two once,” he confessed. He tried hard not to laugh at the shade of red her complexion took on. A charming human reaction, Victus could admit. She looked at him wide-eyed before a hand came up to cover her face.

“What? When? Oh god. I could have gone without knowing that... wait. Does _he_ know that?”

Victus chose not to answer, instead letting his silence speak for him. He watched with amusement as her jaw dropped and her eyes, somehow, grew even wider.

“Yup,” she said to herself, reminding him of Garrus. “I think I'm ready to die now. And to think I was feeling embarrassed about visiting with a Councilor without a bra on.”

Victus didn't follow. The look he gave her must have said as much because she flashed him a bright smile and laughed. He found himself impressed by how easily she could read a turian face.

“Never mind.” She waved her hand dismissively.

Victus decided to save her from her embarrassment, though he couldn't quite comprehend the reason for it. He chalked it up to the cultural differences between humans and turians when it came to sex and, oddly, their own bodies. He steered the conversation to the business at hand.

“If you haven't been made aware, I'm happy to inform you that the Normandy is yours again. For as long as you'll have her.”

Her eyes widened again, surprised at his statement. “That's very generous, but she's a warship, sir. Not a cruise ship. And I don't think the Alliance will be too keen on just handing her over-”

Victus held up a hand, a gesture that came naturally to him, and her tirade stopped.

“They're not, but I've handled it. She's not an Alliance ship. She never was. She was built for a Spectre. She's your ship, provided you wish to return to duty in service to the council once you're fit enough. Though, I would understand if you wished to retire. You've been through so much.”

The commander huffed a laugh. “You can say that again.”

“In which case,” Victus continued. “She'll fall to Garrus. After him, well... I'll have to find another Spectre to take the vessel. I'm sure that won't be hard.”

“No, it won't be.” She sighed and allowed her eyes to flit around her surroundings. “I don't exactly have fond memories of the med-bay. Hell, that bed there-” she pointed at the bed diagonal from where she lay- “was where Garrus nearly died after he took that rocket to the face... but the rest of this ship feels like home. The only one I've ever known, really.”

Victus nodded his sentiment. “I know what you mean. I wasn't aboard her for very long, but I visited the War Room before I came down here. It felt like slipping on a pair of well-worn gloves.”

She chuckled. Eyes alight with amusement. “That doesn't surprise me. As I recall, you rarely ventured far from that room. But yeah, she has that effect on people.”

Her eyes shifted down to her lap, staring at the dots that speckled her hands. She looked thoughtful before she met his eyes again and said, “Honestly, right now I just want to focus on walking again without help. Returning to duty isn't exactly my first priority. May I take some time to decide?”

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Victus told her, “Of course, Commander. I didn't mean to push.”

“Shepard. And it's alright. I didn't take it that way.” She offered a brief smile, but it was quick to melt away when she went on. “But I get the feeling that isn't the only reason for your visit.”

Victus felt his mandibles shift to allow his diplomatic mask to slide into place. “It isn't,” he confirmed. “I also came here to ask you about what happened on the Citadel that night.”

Commander Shepard frowned at the question. She then looked away from him, her eyes focusing on the wall ahead of her. Then he noticed the way her eyes began to glass over. Victus knew that look too well and, without thinking, he quickly reached for her shoulder and gave it firm squeeze.

“Shepard.” Her name left him in the form of an order. She blinked hard at his voice, but when she looked at him it was with clear eyes once again.

“Sorry,” she said, but Victus shook his head.

“I can give you a moment, if you need-”

“No,” she cut him off. “I knew I was going to have to do this sooner or later. I'd rather get it over with.”

Surprised by her answer, he asked, “You didn't tell the Alliance?”

She shook her head. “No. They asked, but... it all seemed wrong. Something in my gut told me not to share it with them. Not yet. Then that agent of yours showed up- Oh yeah. I _knew_ that was you- and confirmed my suspicions that they had been lying to me the whole time. Then I _really_ didn't feel like sharing.”

“Can I get you anything?” He offered.

“Water would be nice.”

After Victus fetched a bottle of water from a mini fridge and handed it to her, he made himself as comfortable as he could and listened patiently as she told him her story. He pretended not to notice the way her voice wavered when she began with leaving Garrus behind on the _Normandy_. Then she told him about getting blasted by Harbinger's beam, somehow surviving, and continued to fight her way to the Catalyst. Then she hesitated.

“It... gets a little weird from here. Bear with me,” she warned before she launched into her encounter with the Illusive Man and her old CO, Captain Anderson. Again, her voice faltered at the mentioning of his death, but like the soldier she was, she pushed through it, finally telling him of an AI she met aboard the Citadel. The true form of the Catalyst.

“It gave me three options.” Her voice had grown cold, barely above a whisper. “Take control over the reapers, which was what the Illusive Man wanted. Merge myself with them, which supposedly would have made all life in the galaxy some kind of weird, synthetic-organic hybrid whether they wanted it or not. That's what Saren would have wanted.”

Victus suppressed a shutter at the thought. He knew that his fate had been in this human's hands from the start. All their fates were, but to hear that he could have become a... what?

A cyborg based on her whim alone? It was a sobering thought to say the least.

“Or destroy them. The way I saw it, they've been spearheading millions of years of genocidal lunacy. Maybe they should have run their source code through a debugger because I strongly suspect they would have found a zero where a one should be.” She huffed another laugh and shook her head. “My options were to force a change at the molecular level on the entire galactic population, sacrifice my own humanity and possibly become the next Harbinger, or follow the order I went up there with. I hated all of it. I wanted to shoot the damn thing, but... my choice was clear. The geth and Edi...”

“Not all the geth were deactivated,” Victus reminded her. To his surprise, his voice dropped to an almost paternal range. An old habit, he supposed. “In fact, those that remained helped us rebuild the relays. They, along with the rachni- and _Spirits_ , I still don't know how you managed that- kept my people from starving on Earth. In your position, I would have made the same choice.” Feeling bold, he reached for her shoulder again and looked her dead in the eyes. “You did well. You saved us all.”

Then she surprised him when she suddenly threw her arms around his neck. Caught off guard, his breath hitched and his body stiffened at the contact, not entirely sure what to do.

He had never been hugged by a human before.

“Thank you,” he heard her say into his cowl, voice rough with emotion. “For everything. For keeping your word. For looking after Garrus... For getting me out of that _fucking_ hospital.”

Gingerly, carefully, his arms came up around her to return the embrace, pulling her body gently against his as he felt himself relax. He could go on about how it was her he should be thanking, but he didn't think that's what she wanted to hear. Instead he offered, “I can think of only one way for you to return the favor.”

Inside him, he felt the Father stir. He imagined him clawing out of his grave and reaching up to feel along the opposing wall of diplomacy that had encased him. His talons ran along the surface until one of them found a small hole in the foundation just large enough to press his eye to. He stared out through it, his gaze pleading before he would replace his eye with his mouth and implored to the woman in his arms, “Commander please... take care of Garrus.”

Shepard pulled away from his embrace to meet his gaze, surprised and then confused when Victus stifled the Father and paved over the hole he had called out through. At the sound of the door opening behind him, his face was cold and stony once again.

“Look what I found in the cargo... bay.” Garrus drew to a halt as he took in the scene, a black widow rifle cradled in his arms. Shepard looked at him, eyes slightly red and puffy before they fell on the gleaming black parcel he carried.

“Morticia!” She exclaimed, mercifully pushing past the heavy moment. “I've missed you so much!”

Victus got the hint and took the opportunity to slip out.

“Shepard, I've only been gone a few minutes- oh. You mean the gun,” he heard Garrus quip humorously as Victus moved past the other turian and exited the room. Just as he was about to board the elevator, he paused and turned back to the med-bay. Instead of reentering, he walked around the room and looked in through the side windows.

He took a moment to watch the Commander and her turian pick over the large, impressive rifle he had set in her lap. She was talking to him excitedly, but Victus couldn't hear her through the soundproof glass. Regardless, he felt his mandibles tug into a smile, feeling proud of himself and of her. In that moment, watching her reunite with Garrus like they had never been apart made everything seem worth it to him. Perhaps he had done some good after all. If anyone deserved a happy ending, it was Commander Shepard and Garrus Vakarian. On that thought, his eyes shifted to Garrus-

He froze.

Garrus had been watching him. He had to have seen the smile on Victus' face before he could remove it. He'd been caught. Though... he didn't look angry. If anything, Garrus looked conflicted.

Not wanting to linger any longer Victus did the only thing he could think to do; He raised a hand and languidly waved goodbye to the man that had become his most trusted friend. Now Garrus looked more confused than ever, but to Victus' shock, he raised his own hand in a farewell gesture.

As undignified as he knew he would appear, Victus turned and hurried for the elevator, keeping his pace just short of running. He rounded the corner, stepped inside and just as the doors shut he heard Garrus call out to him from the med-bay.

“Adrien, wait!”

No. That wasn't who he was anymore. He had to get out of there. The doors couldn't open fast enough and once they did, Victus walked briskly out of the elevator into the CIC, beckoning Naash without slowing his pace even a fraction.

“Something wrong?” Nash rumbled as he struggled to catch up.

“It's time to go,” was Victus' only response to his escort.

“Damn it! Who the fuck locked the _fire escape_ hatch?” He heard Garrus bellow angrily behind him, followed by the sound of a metal hatch slamming open. “Adrien!”

Staff stopped to stare at the retreating Councilor, but Victus paid them no mind. When he and Naash made it to the cockpit, the pilot- _'Joker'_ turned around in his chair to shoot them a deeply puzzled look. He glanced between Victus and his approaching comrade and for one horrible moment, he thought the human would barricade him from the airlock, but as it turned out, he wasn't stupid enough to stand in the way of a Councilor, let alone one escorted by a krogan.

Just as the airlock door sealed behind him, Victus heard, “Damn it, Adrien, get your ass back here! _Spirits_ , I'll hit you again!”

He ignored the questioning look Naash shot him just as he ignored the way his hands shook at his sides.

Just as he ignored the desperation he heard in Garrus' sub-harmonics. They almost made him stop and as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't. Garrus was the personification of his weakness, his last link to his past. To respond to the name he called out would be to look back, to fail the test, to fail the galactic community that depended on him.

It would be selfish to turn back.

He wasn't Adrien anymore. He couldn't be. His identity now was The Turian Councilor. It was a mistake to let his guard down the way he did. Garrus didn't need him anymore and to stick around would do nothing but hinder them both.

Victus walked briskly across the boarding tube, no longer concerned if the vacuum of space ripped it open and suffocated him. He was more concerned of whether or not Garrus would choose to follow him through, but mercifully, he didn't. Once aboard the _Viteaz,_ he barked at the flight lieutenant.

“Set a course for the Citadel!”

He made it ten feet from the lieutenant before he heard, “But, sir... Vakarian is still on the Normandy.”

Victus wasn't surprised to hear the confusion in the man's voice. He had grown accustomed to seeing Garrus at Victus' side for all the trips they had spent aboard the _Viteaz_ , launching reapers into the sun. He halted and, without turning around said, “And that's where he'll remain. Set a course for the Citadel.”

He did not wait for the hesitated, “Yes, sir.” Though he heard it just before he entered the lift to take him down to where he felt the most solace on the ship; the drivecore. When he entered the chamber, he ordered the few techs stationed in the room out and tried not to stare as they hurried past him. He kept his back straight, staring at the large drivecore until he heard the last of the techs scurry from the room. Then he deactivated the cameras, locked the door, and moved to the nearest bulkhead where his shoulders slumped and his brow pressed against the warm metal.

The drivecore droned on beside him.

His mind dredged up the memory of the dreams he used to have. The days, he realized, when he struggled the most against his new position. He recalled the image of his house burning around him, Magrim and Tarquin trapped within, but he would always refuse to leave them. He hadn't had that dream in months.

Brow still pressed against the bulkhead, he raised his omni-tool, fingers flying across the interface in an old pattern he could repeat with his eyes closed. He found the file he sought within seconds and hit play. Magrim's voice filled the void, accompanied by the thrumming drivecore much as it did in life.

“ _Hey, private.”_ His breath hitched at the nickname. He hardly recognized it anymore. “ _Wouldn't you know it, there's a problem on board and only I can fix it. Spirits, I really hope this recording reaches you. I don't have long, but I just wanted to say-really quick, that you and Tarquin are everything to me. I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do, but it's the only way I can get my crew out of here safely. Fucking batarians. I love you both so much, Adrien. Please never-”_

“Change?” The word came to him like a revelation, and left him feeling winded.

Was that what she meant to say?

She had said that to him before, hadn't she?

Not only did he allow her son to die, his last tie to her, but had he also gone against her one final request?

He felt sick as he pictured her, his sweetest friend, regarding him with disappointment etched in her features.

 __'What would you make of me now?'__ He whispered into the metal.

He had let her down just as he let their son down and they both died in fire. He was right to push Attilia and Garrus away. He would only hurt them too. Everyone he knew, he would hurt. Hopefully, Naash would see that soon and leave him too.

He stabbed a talon into the side of his hand, digging it in and tearing a hole in his flesh. He stared down at the blue blood that rose from the wound, trying to feel it, but he was too numb. The Father whimpered from his grave, but the Councilor felt nothing. He had more important matters to focus on than the whims of a dead woman.

He had left Tarquin's ashes behind, he had left Garrus behind, and now it was time to do the same to Magrim. It would seem Voltaire had not failed in his task. A part of Victus perished that night in his apartment and he now lied dead and buried beneath the gray matter of his son's ashes.

Victus played the recording again and as Mags' musical voice rang out around him, his eyes sought the holographic Citadel that rotated silently over its small platform. His gilded cage, as it were.

His finger descended on the delete key, erasing the imprint of her voice forever. He cried out at the loss, as if the absence tore something from him and he pressed his brow harder against the bulkhead. With his eyes screwed shut, he could almost pretend it was her that pressed back.

His breath left him in heavy bursts as he struggled to regain control of himself. Yet, the Councilor berated his weakness. While he sniveled and keened in the belly of a ship, people across the galaxy were crying out for food and shelter and it was more than just the turians on Palaven. They all needed him now.

His breath began to slow and, after a few minutes, his scrunched face relaxed and his amber eyes slid open again. The Councilor returned his attention to the floating Citadel. That was where he belonged now. That was where he was most needed.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered to the ill-fated woman in his head as he handed over their infant son, placing him gingerly into her cowl. He quickly turned away from them, afraid to see the look on her face and afraid to see Tarquin reaching for him. He discovered that the door he'd entered from had reappeared again.

He heard the fire swoop in to engulf Adrien's past as Councilor Victus emerged from the inferno.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to _a lot_ of music while making this fic, so I decided to narrow the list down and make a [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/some_writer/playlist/6pAwVJnuBraWQI2HOpYeFp) for those interested. All these songs served my muse well, particularly The Sound of Silence (Disturbed version), Hurt (Johnny Cash version), and Indestructible (again Disturbed).
> 
> Well, Readers, this is goodbye for now. I'm thinking of continuing the plot for this story and I might after the holidays. I've had so much fun writing it and nerding out with all of you. This is such a wonderful community. Thank you so much for joining me on this journey. <3
> 
>  **Update:** Since posting this final chapter, I've created a series for the universe of this story. Part 2 and Part 3 don't need to be in any particular order. In fact, Part 2 is a (slightly) happier add-on to this ending.


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